


Unfamiliar Sounds

by EndTableForOrphans



Series: Salt in the Wound [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Angst and Romance, Anxiety, Background Relationships, Canon Related, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flashbacks, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Minor Original Character(s), Nightmares, Original Character Death(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndTableForOrphans/pseuds/EndTableForOrphans
Summary: "Roselyn is startled awake to pain. The rhythmic pounding in her skull starting as a slow hum that increases in tempo as she comes to. It is loud. It is so loud. The pounding flows through her body and radiates down her arm, which in turn blossoms into a burning static. She emits a small noise but realizes that she is unable to cry out. To scream."This tale follows the Inquisitor's journey. She has already had everything torn from her and has nothing left to lose... or so she thinks. Strange friends come from strange places, and through chaos and death, Roselyn finds her place amidst it all. This is the beginning of Roselyn Trevelyan's tale.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Mage Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Mage Trevelyan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Salt in the Wound [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193333
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. The Prisoner

Roselyn is startled awake to pain. The rhythmic pounding in her skull starting as a slow hum that increases in tempo as she comes to. It is loud. _It is so fucking loud_. The pounding flows through her body and radiates down her arm, which in turn blossoms into a burning static. She emits a small noise but realizes that she is unable to cry out. To scream.

She can’t bring herself to open her eyes, not yet at least. Nausea washes over her with a sickening wave and for a moment, she forgets about the pain that radiates down her arm and the pounding in her skull. In a dizzying blur Roselyn’s eyes shoot open as she wretches to her side and dry heaves against the cool stone. She can’t see much at first as the room begins to spin, but as the room around her slows, she begins making out vague shapes in the darkness. Stone walls. Stone floors. Once her body had finishes expelling what was left in her system the details started becoming clearer. In the distance it sounded like water was dripping from the ceiling onto the floors and there was an echo that crashed against the dark stone walls. A sense of dread overcomes her as she realizes that she is cut off from the rest of the room by a wall of iron bars.

_Sweet Maker, where am I?_

“The Prisoner is awake! Alert the Seeker and Sister Nightingale!” she hears shouting in the distance but can’t make out any of the figures in the darkness. She hears the sound of metal swords being drawn and the cold metal clank of armor. The sound is all too familiar to her and for a moment she forgets that she is not in the circle. But the feeling is the same and the memories are bitter, like the faint taste of bile on the back of her tongue. She tries so hard not to think about their names but their names come so easily to her tongue.

_The Prisoner_.

She slowly tries pushing herself up from the cold stone and realizes it comes with some resistance. Her wrists are chained in manacles and connected to the stone floor. She feels heavy and everything hurts, and nausea washes over her again. She finds herself retching against the cold stone once again.

_What the fuck happened to me?_

Roselyn tries to think back to what lead her to being locked behind the bars of the cold cell. A sudden mixture of panic and dread sinks deep in the pit of her stomach as she realizes she couldn’t remember anything past a certain point. Thoughts racing, images of her travels to The Conclave pass through her mind. She remembers travelling alone with nothing on her person besides the coat on her back and her staff. And then… Her head begins pounding again.

_My staff._

Of course, that would have been the first thing that they would have confiscated from her. Anyone who knew anything about magic however would have realized that she did not need any staff to be a threat, that is… If she were in a better physical state. At this point she could barely muster the strength to sit up, let alone draw up a simple barrier.

Footsteps echo against the stone walls of the prison and she can make out the quiet hiss of whispers, but she can’t differentiate the voices. With the disembodied voices comes the dim glow of torches and the light begins dancing against the dark stone. It takes a few moments for Roselyn’s cool gray eyes to adjust to the light and she squints as the figures carrying the torches came closer.

A tall woman with olive-toned skin and dark cropped hair steps closer to Roselyn and opens the cell that Roselyn is being held in. She is in her late thirties, perhaps her early forties. Everything about her is sharp and harsh. The tall woman wears a grave expression that makes Roselyn want to shrink back, but she swallows and resists the urge, remaining frozen in place. Remaining frozen in fear.

An electrical current burned through her arm down to the palm of her left hand and brightened the room with a sickening green light. Roselyn bites back the bile that creeps up the back of her throat and tries blinking through the pain. She is trying so fucking hard not to scream.

_What in the actual f-_

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” The tall woman stated flatly in a familiar accent. Nevarran?

  
  
Even though the woman’s tone remains unchanging, Roselyn feels the weight and anger in her words. They were anything but subtle. Roselyn’s gray eyes flicker from her own strange glowing green hand to the woman’s surprisingly soft hazel eyes and she holds them there. She didn’t have any answers for this woman. In fact, she is convinced that this woman definitely has more answers than she did at this very moment. Instead, Roselyn steels herself and fights to keep her own face neutral despite the harrowing news and pain in her hand and arm. Barely daring to breathe.

The tall woman reaches down for her chained hand and holds her left wrist, which still glows a sickly light. For a moment Roselyn imagines all of the nerves in her bursting into flame.

“Explain _this_!” The tall woman lashes out, her flat tone now turning to a snarl.

“I… can’t” Roselyn purses her own lips and fights to maintain neutrality.

“What do you mean, _you can’t_?” The woman bites back with pure venom.

“I have no idea what that is or how it got there.” Roselyn stares unblinkingly at the woman before her. She searched the other’s face for more but was met with a rising level of anger.

_They’re going to kill me._ The thought echoes through her pounding skull and suddenly she forgets about all of the pain in head. She forgets about the pain in her hand and her arm. _Will they even know that I am gone?_ The question makes her throat tighten. She thinks about her brothers. She thinks about Marlowe’s lopsided grin. She thinks about Maxwell’s furrowed brow. She thinks about the twinkle in her father’s gray eyes, the same as hers. She thinks about her mother’s rich smooth mahogany brown hair.

“You’re lying!” The woman bares her teeth angrily, dropping Roselyn’s wrist.

In one fluid motion the woman moves to strike with the same hand that had been gripping hers. As Roselyn braces for a strike, determined not to flinch or show weakness despite her terror, a shorter woman with a milky complexion and chin length red hair that framed her slender face moved forward to stop the taller of the two.

“We need her Cassandra.” The red-headed woman states matter-of-factly to the taller woman named Cassandra. There is an accented lilt to her voice. Orlesian.

_Why do they need me? Am I important? Who are these people? A Nevarran and an Orlesian working together? Are they with the chantry? What the fuck happened?_ Racing thoughts remaining pervasive in Roselyn’s head, she takes a deep breath.

“I think I’m missing a few key details here.” Roselyn’s voice held steady and she herself is surprised by how she is able to maintain her composure so far.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” The woman with red hair asks. Her words devoid of the animosity that gripped Cassandra’s but that did not make her any less terrifying. Something in the red-headed woman’s eyes made her appear older than her milky smooth complexion gave way.

She looked down to the dark stones of the prison. She searches her mind, now sharper and clearer than it had been since she had woken up.

_Her lungs burned as she ran. A sick feeling filled her stomach as she glanced back and saw…. Blank …. Hazy… She glanced at the woman following close, beckoning her to follow her. The woman’s hand reached for Roselyn’s own pale hand before…_

“I… I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then… a woman?”

“A woman?” The red-haired woman’s head tilts slightly to the side with her question.

“She reached out to me, but then…” Roselyn began. She searches her own memories furiously and becomes sick when she realizes that this was all she could remember. Another wave of nausea washes over her, and she begins dry heaving again.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Cassandra says with a grave tone, now devoid of the anger that had gripped her before.

The woman named Leliana nods to Cassandra, and her icy blue eyes flicker to Roselyn’s own gray ones. Their eyes hold for a moment before Leliana turns to exit. After Leliana turns her back to Roselyn, Roselyn glances back to Cassandra.

“What did happen?” She asks.

Cassandra pulls her to her feet easily and replaces the chains around her wrists with rope that is tied tightly and scratches the sensitive skin around her wrists.

“It will be easier to show you.” Cassandra’s eyes darken again as she purses her lips.

Silently they move forward, and Cassandra leads her up a large flight of stairs. Her own body still feels heavy and Roselyn doesn’t trust her footing yet. As they move through the doors, Roselyn suddenly becomes blind to white light, which is then replaced by a sickening green light that swirls and slowly overtakes the sky. It is hard to differentiate where the strange green light begins and ends. As her eyes adjust, she feels her neutral mask drop as she looks to the sky. The same sick green glowing light that shoots out of her hand rips against the sky. Her heart stops and eyes widen in terror.

_What in the Andraste ever loving fuck is that._


	2. Eyes Made of Glass

“We call it The Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest, all were caused by the explosion at the conclave.” Cassandra states gravely, as if she had just read Roselyn’s thoughts.

Roselyn turns to Cassandra and fights to maintain her composure. Panic sets in and is mixed sickly with the nausea that she had been fighting off. Roselyn has known fear all her life. She can remember the first time she had felt fear. The first time she had shot ice from her fingertips. She had been alone, and she refused to tell anyone what had happened. She knew what happened to mages. She knew how her father talked about magic. She lived with that fear every day of her life for eight years until she had struck down a chandelier with a bolt of lightning in a fit of rage during a screaming match she was having with her mother. She remembers the fear she saw etched across her family’s faces when they realized what she was. She remembers the fear she felt the day the Templars came to retrieve her. She remembers the fear she felt when no one came to see her off. She was always alone in her fear.

“An explosion can do that?” Is all that she could muster, her voice barely a whisper.

“This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.” Cassandra grimaces.

And in that moment The Breach cracks and grows against the sky. The mark on Roselyn’s hand flares up and the familiar pain of the electrical current shoots through her every fiber, starting in her hand and burns up her arm. All the air suddenly leaves her lungs as the white-hot pain overtakes her and she doubles over, landing on the ground. She reaches with her right hand to cradle her cursed left. She can feel hot tears well up in her eyes from the pain. 

“Each time The Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.” Her words sound like a strange mix of pity and hope.

_She’s gone from wanting to crack her fists into my face to feeling sorry for me._

“So, you have no idea.” Roselyn mutters through her teeth. She once again fights to maintain her composure in the face of pain and dread.

“No. We do not.” She states.

“You say it _may_ be the key. To doing what?” Roselyn purses her lips while holding her gaze on the taller woman.

“Closing The Breach. Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”

“I understand.” Roselyn looks once again to The Breach.

“Then…?” Cassandra blinks.

“I’ll do what I can. That goes to say I have no idea what I actually _can_ do. But there really is no choice in the matter is there?” She turns to the taller woman and studies her for a moment before swallowing back her fear.

Cassandra nods approvingly before she pulls her to her feet, letting Roselyn place her weight on her while she gained her footing again. They walk through a small village and she catches the many scowls of the people before her. She decides to keep staring ahead, unblinking and try not to get killed by an angry mob before she even has the chance to try and help. But with her recent luck, Roselyn is not hopeful. Not that Roselyn has ever been a hopeful individual in the first place, but she better not start now, in the face of calamity.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.” Cassandra’s tone is grave. Roselyn notes the sadness that snakes its way through her words and grips her vocal cords. It’s subtle. But it’s there.

Soldiers before them open the gates at the edge of the small village. They nod and stand at attention to Cassandra, but when their eyes flickered to Roselyn, their attention turn to glares.

_So, I have made it passed the angry mob. Check that off the survival to-do list._

“We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until The Breach is sealed.” When Cassandra refers to the divine her words twist into mourning.

_Did she know the divine? Or is she merely devout?_

Cassandra pulls out a dagger and, in a moment, Roselyn prepares to throw up a barrier. Her gray eyes flicker between the dagger and Cassandra’s face, searching for her next move.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” And with a simple motion, Cassandra cuts away at the bindings around her wrists.

“Come. It is not far.” She states, not realizing how quick Roselyn had reacted to the possible threat.

“Where are you taking me?” Roselyn rubs her sensitive wrists where the rope and manacles had rubbed the skin raw.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than The Breach.” Cassandra walks in front of her but glances back at Roselyn.

They begin crossing a stone bridge. As they cross Roselyn’s eyes dart across the scene before her. The wounded, scarred, and dead pass by them as they keep their pace. Roselyn is sure she can hear someone reciting The Chant, but she can’t tear her eyes away from the corpses. Some are shielded by canvas coverings; others are left staring blank up at the ominous breach. Their eyes look like they had been made of glass, like they were merely dolls disposed of and tossed aside. Roselyn wonders if the terrifying sight of the breach was the last thing they had seen, or if it had been a collection of memories that flashed in their minds before the light left their eyes. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps neither.

She forces herself to tear her eyes away from the dead before finding one soldier sitting in the fetal position and rocking back and forth. She can’t decide which sight disturbs her more. The unblinking dead with eyes made of glass, or the soldier who probably wished to join them.

She swallows hard and tries staring ahead, focusing on the task at hand. 

“Open the gate! We are headed into the valley!” Cassandra’s voice cuts through her own thoughts and for the first time she is grateful for the other woman’s presence.

The soldiers ahead nod before allowing them to pass.

Cassandra and Roselyn break into a slow jog as they make their way up the path. Soldiers run past them and somewhere Roselyn hears a shout but is too numb to hear what is actually said.

Corpses litter the path before them. Mages. Templars. Soldiers. Casualties left and right and Roselyn is sure that she has never seen so many dead. So many glass eyes staring back at her, haunting her. It all reminds her of something, but she tries not to think about it. Not now. She does not want to think about it ever, but she especially can’t think about it now.

Once they reach the top of the hill, Roselyn realizes how unused to running she is. She by no means is out of shape, but she begins to wonder how long she had been passed out on the cold stones of the dungeon she had been held in, and what exactly what had been done to her body.

The sound of crackling magic and white-hot pain sears her palm. She cannot hold back her scream this time, and she cries out as she fell to her knees. Cassandra holds right her hand out to Roselyn, helping her up and once again allowing Roselyn to shift some of her weight onto the taller woman before trusting her feet once again.

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger The Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.” Cassandra lets go of Roselyn before moving quickly again.

“How _did_ I survive the blast?” Roselyn wonders out loud. She begins matching Cassandra’s pace, and she feels her lungs burn with the winter cold air.

“They say you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.” Cassandra answers with difficulty.

The familiar sick feeling returns to her stomach again. She has no memory of this.

_A woman? The same woman?_

They pass more casualties as they continue on the path. The scent of burning flesh permeates her nose and it takes every ounce of her willpower not to double over and vomit. Not that she has anything left in her left to give. She is sure in this moment that she probably looks terrible or crazy. Or both. Her shoulder length platinum blonde hair snarled in a braid, she can see from her hands that she is covered in a layer of dirt and grime.

As they cross another bridge, blinding light explodes into her vision and she loses her footing as the bridge begins to crumble under her feet. Roselyn’s hands fly around her head as she lands shoulder first in the rubble. She cries out in pain as she hits the stones. Once she is able to readjust and gather her footing, she notices that Cassandra is already on her feet.

Another flash of blinding light and Roselyn instinctually braces for impact, but no rumble comes. She opens her eyes and stares in horror.

Demons. Demons spilling out of the streaks of green light from The Breach.

_Well, shit._

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra snarls before darting forward and attacking the shade.

Another streak of light and yet another shade appears before Roselyn. She panics and looked to Cassandra who is currently preoccupied by the demon before her. Roselyn’s eyes dart back and forth in panic before her eyes settle upon an abandoned staff.

_Nothing special but it is something._

She glances at the shade before sprinting to the staff. The demon before her gave chase and just as she is able to grab the staff, she whips the staff around and makes physical contact with the shade. The demon’s skull gives a sickening crack but gives no indication of giving up so easily.

Roselyn prepares a simple attack, pushing and pulling at the fade around her to produce her magic. Lightning shoots out of the staff and she begins the movements that she has become so familiar with. It is like a dance she had decided once when she was training in the circle. Stepping in time with the rhythm of the fade as it wraps and warps around her. Magic to her feels like breathing and always came naturally to her. She never fought it, but instead greeted it like a friend every time, even during her eight untrained years before the circle. There was a time where she had been applauded for her abilities she remembers bitterly, and her chest suddenly begins to feel tight again.

As the last shade fell, Roselyn breathes a sigh of relief.

“It’s over.”

In a moment, Cassandra points her own sword directly at Roselyn. Her eyes glower down to the shorter of the two and she notices that Cassandra’s nostrils are flared in fury.

“Drop your weapon. _Now._ ”

“You’re joking right? Demons are pouring out of the sky and you want me to what? Negotiate with them?” Roselyn laughs bitterly.

“You don’t _need_ to fight.” Cassandra spat in anger.

“Ah, so negotiating with demons it is.” Roselyn snaps back.

They are at an impasse. Cassandra needs her to survive but cannot allow her to continue as a threat. Roselyn wants to survive but cannot allow herself to move forward without protection. Cassandra was but one woman. An impressively strong and capable woman surely, but one woman against a giant whole in the sky dumping demons on Thedas.

“You’re right,” Cassandra let out an exacerbated sigh, still glaring at Roselyn. “I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.”

“Nor have I used my magic on you yet.” Roselyn shifts her weight to her other hip.

“Is that a threat?” Cassandra shoots back.

“Sweet Maker,” Now it was Roselyn’s turn to sigh out. She turns her attention away from Cassandra to the frozen river before them. “Where are all your soldiers?” She asks.

“At the forward camp, or fighting. We are on our own, for now.” Cassandra sheathes her weapon but keeps a wary eye on Roselyn.

Together they turn down a path beside the river and they begin a jog. Roselyn begins to notice how cold she was beginning to feel. She can’t feel her fingers and toes anymore, and her lungs continued to burn as they push forward. They stop and fight demons multiple times on their path and once they reach a path of stone steps, Roselyn notices how hard she is breathing.

Blinding green flashes of light once again streak into their vision and Roselyn nearly trips over several corpses that litter the steps. More demons. More unblinking eyes staring at Roselyn accusingly.

“We are getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting.” Cassandra yells over the final sound of the demon screech once the fighting is over.

“Who’s fighting?”

“You’ll see soon enough. We must help them.” Cassandra begins moving up the steep stone steps once again.

_How unhelpful._

Once they reach their destination Roselyn’s eyes widen upon seeing the destruction and fighting before them. She sees a smaller rift, emanating the same sickly glow as The Breach and her mark, and demons below. The demons however are currently preoccupied by a dwarf with magnificent chest hair and a fascinating crossbow, an elven mage who appeared unassuming and fighting in a style that was unfamiliar to Roselyn, and several other soldiers. Cassandra quickly and decidedly charges into the fight, cutting down a demon that was preparing to strike the dwarf, who had been closest to them. Roselyn proceeds to settle a barrier over the elven mage who had managed to take on _two_ demons by himself. Not her best work, but in light of her burning lungs and the amount of vomiting she had done today, it was the best she was going to be able to come up with.

Her eyes met with the elven mage who had felt her presence before even laying eyes on her. Surely, they must have felt someone else pushing and pulling at the fade around them. Roselyn had always thought that being a mage was like being born with an extra sense. Everyone had touch, smell, sight, taste, and hearing, but mages could sense the fade around them, how it wrapped around everything and flowed through them.

Roselyn breathes deeply and turns her focus to the battle.

Lightning cracked out down from sky and strikes several demons before her. Roselyn begins her familiar dance and makes her way through the fighting chaos. Once the last demon falls, the elven mage grips her left hand and thrust it into the direction of the rift.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

_It is electric._

The mark burns her hand again but this time she could feel the pull of the rift. She feels everything around her melt away as the energy flows through her. It is trying to pull her, but instead she pulls the ties connecting rift and herself and feels something shatter. A blinding flash of green light and suddenly the disturbance in the fade is gone in an instant. She feels the silent calm in the air and dares to breathe before turning to the elf.

“What did you do?” She massages her left hand.

“ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.” He says in an unfamiliar lilt. Dalish? She is unsure. She had met a couple Dalish mages in the circle but knew that the Dalish were far spread out so surely, she could not have been fully familiar with every accent.

“You mean this.” She stares down at her palm; the pain had passed for now.

“Whatever magic opened The Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in The Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.” The elf smirks slightly and cocks his head to the side as he peers at her. She feels like he is looking through her.

“Meaning it could also close The Breach itself.” Cassandra turns to the elf as well.

“Possibly.” The elf’s eyes left Roselyn and dart to Cassandra before darting back to Roselyn again.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation” The ghost of a smile echoing across his face.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” An unfamiliar voice rings out behind Roselyn. She turns to face him.

“Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” Varric winks at Cassandra, who replies with a scowl.

“Roselyn: former Circle mage, and more currently a prisoner. Nice crossbow.” Roselyn eyes the contraption in Varric’s hands.

Varric snorts before continuing.

“Isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.” Varric sighs affectionately at the inanimate object in his hands.

“You named your crossbow Bianca?” Roselyn quirks an eyebrow.

“Of course. And she’ll be great company in the valley.” Varric winks again.

Roselyn snorts.

“Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated Varric, but…” Cassandra begins.

Varric turns to Cassandra and gestures to the area around them.

“Have you been in the valley lately Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” The corner of Varric’s mouth turns upward in a smirk.

Cassandra merely replies in a disgruntled groan.

_Interesting dynamic._

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” The elf named Solas’ voice rang out. Something in his tone seems almost… Playful? Amused? Roselyn is not sure.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric’s half chuckles.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all.” Roselyn quirks an eyebrow.

“Unlike you, Solas is an apostate.” Cassandra states dryly.

“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra. My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with The Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.” Solas states as a matter of fact.

_That explains the fighting style. Interesting. I could learn a lot from him._

“And what will you do once this is all over?” Roselyn’s face remains neutral, but she is intrigued.

“One hopes that those in power will remember who helped, and who did not.” Solas glances over to Cassandra. “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen.”

“Your prisoner is a mage yes, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.” Solas cocks his head slightly to the side, his eyes darting to Roselyn before darting to The Breach.

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.” Cassandra states.

“Well, Bianca’s excited!” Varric grins enthusiastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Stalemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some good companion dialogue! We meet up with Leliana and the Chancellor.

The party of four begin moving quickly down another path toward the valley. Roselyn is once again trying to be careful not to trip over the rubble, corpses, and whatever else littered their path, without looking too closely at what they were trying to avoid. She kept focusing on small things like how her feet felt in her boots and counting her breaths. Anything to keep her focused and driven on the task at hand.

The scenery would have been beautiful if she was not terrified for her life, she decides. The snow-capped mountains were not something she was accustomed to. She came from the sea, which was beautiful in its own right, but a very different type of beauty. It also would be far more enjoyable if she was not freezing her ass off right now. 

  
She decides that her father would have loved it. He often read to her and her brothers stories of far off lands, Antiva, Rivain, Orlais, Ferelden, even a few about Tevinter. Once when they were children, he had taken her and her brothers across to different Marcher cities. Wycome, Ansberg, Markham, even Starkhaven. During their travels they had been able to see the Vinmark Mountains, but they did not even hold a torch to the view around her. Maxwell, she decides, would have hated the cold. Marlowe… She imagined her brother picking up large chunks of snow and hauling at her and her brother. The idea made her smile, and then it made her sad.

_How many years had it actually been since she had seen her family?_

“So, I take it you’re from the Free Marches?” Varric inquires.

“Oh?” Roselyn raises her eyebrows, surprised. She did not remember saying anything that would indicate where exactly she was from.

“Accent. I’m from Kirkwall, but you’re from… Further east, maybe?” Varric wonders out loud.

She glances back to the dwarf and sees a mischievous glint in his eyes as he continues to press a thinking finger to his lips as they walk.

“I’m surprised you’re able to even hear that.” Roselyn blinks. 

“Ansburg? Ostwick? This is going to bother me.” Varric continues wondering out loud. Cassandra lets out a snort.

“Ostwick.” Roselyn chuckles and glances back at Varric once again, who was now grinning gleefully. “That’s quite the ear you have there.”

“I’m all kinds of impressive.” The dwarf winks at her and catches up to her pace to walk beside her. He begins to hum nonchalantly to a tune that Roselyn barely could recognize. 

Cassandra lets out another snort and shakes her head behind them, keeping a silent pace with Solas.

The mark on Roselyn’s hand flares up and shoots pain up her arm, knocking the wind out of her lungs yet again. The buzzing pounding rhythmically in her palm and throughout her skull. She bites her lip and flexes left hand while planting her feet, determined to remain standing upright.

_You would think I would get used to this by now._

“Shit you alright?” She hears Varric say over her shoulder.

“Oh yeah, just having a grand time.” Roselyn tried to laugh it off.

They continue on and Roselyn focuses once again on her breathing. Pacing her breaths and trying to breathe through the pain shooting up her arm. She didn’t want to let the others know how much it truly was bothering her.

_It’s not like anyone can do anything anyways._ She thinks to herself.

She begins to think about what she would have been doing at this very moment had the circles never fallen. Would she be studying from a tome? Taking an apprentice under her wing? Teaching them how to passive aggressively piss of templars without accidentally crossing any lines that would result in any actual serious punishment? Would she be sitting in a comfortable silence with Lydia in the comfortable leather armchair that she had grown so fond of over the years? Would they be casually chatting about magical theory? Or would they exchange happenings at the circle? There were very few things that Roselyn thought of fondly when remembering the circle, but Lydia was most certainly one of them.

“So… _are_ you innocent?” Varric asks, his voices cutting through her reminiscing thoughts once again.

“Let me know when you find out, because I don’t remember anything.” Roselyn sighs, glancing over at him. He was watching her face very carefully.

“That’ll get you every time. Should have spun a story.” Varric shrugs with a smirk before looking forward.

“That’s what you would have done.” Cassandra says accusingly.

“It’s more believable, and less prone to result in premature execution.” Varric turns his head back and winks at Cassandra.

Suddenly Roselyn wonders just how many situations Varric had gotten into where premature execution was even an option. Somehow, she was not surprised that it was an option for the dwarf.

The group continued onward.

“I hope Leliana made it through all this.” Cassandra wonders aloud. Roselyn notes the touch of worry that echoed through her wonderings.

“She’s resourceful, Seeker.” Varric offers reassuringly.

As they pushed through the waves of demons, they happen upon another rift. They manage to seal it quickly and without incident. The pain not as intense this time when Roselyn seals the rift. She wonders if perhaps the nerves in her arm are going to be shot at the end of all of this and couldn’t decide if that was totally a bad thing. That is, if she survives. Then if she were to survive, if there is a trial, if she were to then survive that.

A trial.

A trial to convict the only person supposedly to survive. Either way she felt like she was going to die. At least if the Breach kills her, she will die trying to do something useful.

She shook her head trying not to dwell on those thoughts. Varric glances over at her again without saying anything but she can feel his eyes on her. She could tell he was perceptive, and she did not need yet another person picking through her brain. Roselyn fights to keep her face neutral but as time is wearing on, she is finding it harder and harder to maintain her façade, but she continues anyways. They did not need her falling apart before she even gets to The Breach.

The odd collection of companions moves forward and find themselves in the forward camp. Roselyn stares forward, pushing to ignore the unblinking eyes of the uncovered corpses staring up at her.

_Is it possible that I am responsible?_

_How many died at The Conclave?_

The thoughts creep in the back of her mind and stay there no matter how much she tries to shake them. There is no way she could have been responsible for such a catastrophic event. _Right?_

_Not without prior planning. Something like this would take months. Years. To plan. It would take resources. Roselyn is but one mage with no Circle, no Family, and no Friends. Sure, she had her talent, but talent would only take you so far._

These thoughts brought her no comfort. Only more questions, and a knot in the pit of her stomach.

As they approach a familiar voice with a melodic cadence brought Roselyn out of her thoughts.

“We must prepare the solders!” Leliana instructs with clear authority.

“We will do no such thing.” A male cleric dressed in chantry robes argues back.

His face is lined, and he stands with a sense of superiority with his hands behind his back and his shoulders straight and square. The Chantry cleric’s robes are pressed, neat, and white, despite the blood and ash that must have followed them following the path. The sight already leaves a bad taste in Roselyn’s mouth and she fights a frown.

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance!” Leliana’s voice remaining calm as she argues with the cleric.

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility.” The cleric scowls at Leliana, self-importance oozing out of every line and every pore.

“ _I_ have caused trouble?” Leliana’s clean façade drops for a moment in disbelief.

“You, Cassandra, the Most Holy – haven’t you all done enough already?” The cleric sighs.

As the group approach Leliana and the imposing cleric, Roselyn notices Leliana’s eyes flash dangerously at the cleric who remains either oblivious or chooses to ignore her for the moment being.

“You’re not in command here.” Leliana’s voice lowers steadily as her cold blue eyes remained on the cleric.

Both Roselyn and Cassandra stand on either side of Leliana, facing the cleric. Leliana turns her face to glance at both Cassandra and Roselyn. Roselyn notes that in the daylight she could see the darker circles under the red-headed woman’s eyes, most likely due to the lack of sleep. However, despite everything Roselyn notes that she seems collected. Beautiful even. She has a sense of grace, grace that she has seen few times throughout her life. A stark contrast Roselyn’s own appearance.

“You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is- “ Leliana begins cordially, offering her quick greetings to the group as she scans them over with inquiring eyes.

“I know who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.” Chancellor Roderick orders, straightening and standing even taller and placing his hands behind his back.

_Well, shit. That didn’t take long._

“’Order me’? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” Cassandra snarls angrily.

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!” The chancellor says, almost shouting and taking a step toward Cassandra.

Roselyn can’t believe her eyes before her. Not that she believes that Cassandra was about to get… stabby anytime soon… But quickly memories resurfaced of her preparing to strike in the dungeon. Surely this Chancellor Roderick had gone off the deep end and suddenly had a death wish.

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.” Leliana replies with a steady tone, holding her hands behind her and standing tall, almost mimicking the chancellor’s own posture.

_So, I was correct about them being with The Chantry._

“Justinia is dead! We must elect her replacement and obey _her_ orders on the matter.” Chancellor Roderick snaps at her.

“Ah yes. Let’s just _ignore_ the glowing green sky and let the bodies pile up while we go play _politics_. That will save more lives. Tell me Chancellor, how many demons have you had to fight today?” Roselyn’s eyes narrowed as she spoke for the first time. Yes, she knew politics had their time and place. She knew politics all too well. But that time and place was not when demons were pouring out of a hole in the sky. One simply cannot form a treaty with a demon and hope for the best. Well… They can try, but usually that does not turn out well for anyone involved.

“ _You_ brought this on us in the first place!” Chancellor Roderick raises a gnarled finger pointing at Roselyn. He then turns to Cassandra and sighs. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.” His face looks dejected. Hopeless.

“We can stop this before it’s too late.” Cassandra replies, folding her arms over her chest.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.” Roderick’s hands fell slack against his body.

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route.” Cassandra says in a determined tone.

“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.” Leliana adds thoughtfully.

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.” Cassandra’s brow furrows.

“Listen to me. Abandon this now, before more lives are lost.” The Chancellor cut in.

Before anyone else had time to say anything else a rumble erupted above, and everyone dared not breathe for a moment before The Breach expanded. Blinding green light ruptures and streaks across the sky, almost looking like strange shooting stars.

Roselyn feels the mark on her hand flare up angrily and curses quietly under her breath. Suddenly she is feeling all eyes on her and taking quiet satisfaction in the aghast expression on the Cleric. She has never been a fan of the Chantry. She blamed the Chantry for preaching hate against the mages. She blamed the Chantry for her parents sending her away. She blamed the Chantry when the circles rebelled. Now that she has the physical embodiment of the Chantry, Roselyn could not help but revel in his hate. Even if he was pissing her off.

“How do _you_ think we should proceed?” Cassandra asks.

Roselyn blinks.

_Well, that is unexpected._

“You’re honestly asking for _my_ opinion?” Roselyn asks in disbelief, looking at Cassandra.

“N-“ The Chancellor begins.

“You have the mark.” Solas cut off Chancellor Roderick who was beginning to grow more and more red in the face.

“And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…” Cassandra looks at her with her hazel eyes and holds them there for a moment with an intensity that would make any grown man shrink.

Roselyn looks to The Breach before glancing back to Leliana and Cassandra.

“I say we charge. With how things are going, I’m not going to live too much longer. Whatever happens it has to happen now.” Roselyn glances back down to her glowing hand.

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.” Cassandra turns to Leliana.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” Spits the Chancellor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love a sassy Trevelyan lol.


	4. The Dance

Burning. Screaming. Chaos.

Roselyn pushes forward, and as they move closer to The Breach; she feels a hum that aches in the back of her head. In the beginning the feeling is subtle and through the smell of burning, smoke, and ash, she is able to ignore the feeling. With every step closer, however, she finds it harder to ignore the feeling, and ignore the sense of dread she feels.

More and more bodies pile up as they make their way forward and Roselyn realizes that she has lost count of how many she’s seen. Their cold eyes stare at the breach and the sky above. Their faces holding ghosts of expressions long since passed and Roselyn finds it too difficult to look at them for long. She silently wonders who they had left behind. Mothers. Fathers. Children. Lovers. Friends. Did some of them have no one? Would no one notice if they were gone? Would someone collapse in on themselves, the world come crashing down around them, if they found out they were gone?

_Would someone notice if she was gone?_

The thought had been eating away at her.

The thought made her chest feel hollow and tightened her throat. She tried to push it out of her mind, but the thought continued to echo inside her. Growing like a seed. Growing like a weed. Taking over every last part of her mind, body, and soul.

_Mama. Papa. Maxwell. Marlowe._

Mama’s beautiful mahogany hair being brushed out, soft waves cascading softly, a red reflect glimmering in the sun.

Papa’s face being hidden behind some book. He had loved reading. That was something that they had in common. Sometimes he would hold his books upside-down just to see how long it would take for his children to notice.

Maxwell’s perpetually anxious hands wringing as he talked. When he talked passionately about a subject his gestures became boisterous and grand, but when he was unsure about himself (which he was most of the time) he went back to his anxious hand movements.

Marlowe’s clear laughter whenever he and her were clearly getting into some mischief. He was the sibling she had felt closest to, in age, appearance, and nature. Anytime she heard a laugh that reminded her of Marlowe’s it would send her spiraling and she found herself unable to breathe.

_Mama. Papa. Maxwell. Marlowe._

She couldn’t finish the all too familiar list. It made her too sad. It was the same list that she had repeated to herself when she was dragged to the circle. As the years passed, she added more names. More faces staring at her in her sleep, but as she wakes, she slowly forgets the finite details of their features. It starts slowly, the bridge of a nose, the curve of a chin. Then she finds herself lying awake at night trying to recall her mother’s face and finding she can’t.

“You feeling alright?” Varric’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“I’m fine.” Roselyn replies with a small smile. 

_Was he watching her again?_

“Alright, alright if you say so,” Varric holds his hands up in defeat, his brow furrowing.

She pretends not to notice and continues smiling when she looks away.

They climb a steep stone steps and through a heavy stone doorway. The buzzing that aches in the back of her head suddenly becomes clearer and she stares blankly for a moment at the scene before her.

“Be wary – another fade rift,” Solas speaks evenly.

The scene before them almost knocked the air out of her lungs. Demons had completely overrun the battlefield. Many felled soldiers were scattered around the rift and a chill ran down Roselyn’s spine as she notices the scattered bones that litter the ground they walked on. She pretends not to notice the faint crunch under her boots as she continues onward. A shade rips through a nearby soldier. He and cries out, and his screams are almost drowned out by the humming in the back of her head. Almost.

Cassandra lunges forward, in effort to save the soldier but her effort is futile, and he falls forward, bleeding onto the ground. Varric makes quick work targeting the shades that were heading their way and Solas laid down barriers on himself and their companions before attacking the shades that were drawing close to attack.

The hum and beat of the battle fight against the pounding in her skull.

Roselyn’s own eyes fall upon a single golden-haired soldier fighting three shades at once. He moves purposely and with precision before striking. He fights without flare, but with skill and necessity. An intense focus spread across his face and for a moment he almost seems at peace. But he is one soldier and there are three demons slashing their claws at his throat and snapping their jaws. Even the most capable have fallen to lesser circumstances. Roselyn speeds forward, leaving her companions to fight the approaching demons before she places her own barrier on the capable soldier. It’s not her best work, once again. But it will have to do.

For a moment it feels like time freezes as his golden hazel eyes dart up to meet hers.

_Did he feel the barrier?_

For a moment she pauses.

Most would not have been able to notice something like that. Not a barrier that weak. She notices how hard he is breathing. _How long has he been fighting like this?_ Yet another reason as to why he should not have noticed the barrier. Their eyes hold each other’s gaze for what feels like ages before time speeds up again. Roselyn realizes she’s been holding her breath.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Focus.

_Shit._

_“Roselyn, you need to focus your mind. You are your greatest enemy.” Lydia smiles softly._

_“I thought demons were my greatest enemy?” Roselyn rolls her eyes._

_She is barely seventeen years of age. She had been at the circle now for only two years, and despite being at a disadvantage to her peers, she did excel. She positions herself once more, planting her feet and finding her center before summoning a barrier._

_“Excellent.” Lydia’s warm smile fills the room and Roselyn feels her cheeks warm._

Roselyn cries out and summons a bolt of lightning, striking the nearest shade and paralyzing it.

_“Breathe, Roselyn.” Lydia’s voice echoes in her head._

She takes a deep breath and clears her mind. She feels her hands trembling. The golden-haired soldier glances in her direction and their eyes before he pierces his sword through the paralyzed demon. Roselyn notices the tiny curls that are threatening to spring up at the base of his neck and around his forehead where there was a glittering sheen of sweat. Their eyes locked for what felt like hours.

Time begins to move forward again.

Together they dance on the battlefield and Roselyn continues to throw up barriers. It feels natural. It feels like breathing. It feels like they have been dancing for hours. She wonders if this is what it would have been like to attend a ball, dancing across the floor in decorated dancing slippers and a beautiful gown, in steps that had been practiced for months.

She wonders what such a thing would be like. Another life. A life where all she had to worry about was the way her dress drapes over her curves and catching the eye of a golden-haired man from across the room. It is a beautiful dream, and it is a dream she has never dreamt before. She had known her life would amount to dusty tomes and robes, so she never allowed herself the luxury. The luxury to dream.

And then the fighting is over, and the dream is dead, just as quickly as it had begun. 

Roselyn’s hand rises in the direction towards the fade rift and she feels the same electricity that she had felt before sting her skin and muscle and through her hand before she manages to seal the rift before them. She turns to see Cassandra and the other companions approach before turning back and glancing at the golden-haired soldier. He looks absolutely exhausted. His shoulders are slumped and there are deep and purple bags under his eyes. His hair had once been smoothed back, but curls are threatening to break through and sweat was dripping down his temples. He wears a small frown that seemed to be now permanently carved into his face, and she catches his honeyed eyes mid glare. She returns his glare with a neutral look of her own, betraying nothing, but still, their gaze holds for a moment.

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” Solas half smiles at Roselyn as he approaches her. She glances over at him and notices that he is not even out of breath, despite the battle only shortly being won.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Varric shrugs before straining to look up at The Breach.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done.” The soldier’s voice rang clear and with a sense of authority while turning his gaze over to Cassandra.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing.” Cassandra offers, gesturing over to Roselyn.

“Lady Roselyn Trevelyan-” Roselyn starts before the Commander cuts her off.

“I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here” He replies shortly.

Out of the corner of Roselyn’s eye she notices Varric’s head jerk into her direction, but he says nothing. _Fuck._

“Did you have a backup plan? I’d love to hear what you had planned instead.” Roselyn folded her arms over her chest.

He narrows his eyes before turning back to Cassandra. “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.” And with that Cassandra and the Commander silently nod before he kneels down and helped a wounded soldier up.

“Maker watch over you – for all our sakes.” He mutters before helping the wounded soldier move forward, allowing the man to press the majority of his weight on himself.

The Commander and Roselyn share one last look before he helps the soldier limp off the battlefield.

* * *

Cullen feels the air burn in his lungs and the pain in his arms have been replaced with an exhausted numbness. He cannot keep pushing on like this, he will not survive, and neither will his soldiers.

As if on cue he hears the cries from another one of his men. He doesn’t know his name. He hadn’t had the chance to learn. They had all been thrown into this madness together and it wasn’t long before he was shouting orders at scared men in gear that didn’t quite fit holding swords that seemed a little too awkward.

He survived the blight for this. He survived one fallen circle for this. He had survived days of torture at the hands of blood mages and demons for this. He had survived a Qunari invasion of Kirkwall for this. He had survived Kirkwall and his Knight-Commander falling into madness for this. He was going to die on the rubble and bones of unknown men and women next to unknown men and women.

The crackle of magic prickled at his skin and made all the hair stand up on his body. He may not have been a Templar any longer, but after years of dedicating his life The Order, these senses do not die so quickly. Or ever. The magic was harmless, a barrier probably.

He glances up to look for the mage who had disturbed the fade around him and was met with a pair of piercing pale gray eyes. He recognized her immediately, as he had watched her lying unconscious in the cell under the Chantry.

_The prisoner._

They lock eyes for a moment and Cullen swears she has a look of panic briefly flash across her face and before he knows it the look is gone, and she cries out.

A bolt of lightning flashes and for a moment he’s gone blind. When his vision comes back, he sees one of the shades paralyzed and he goes in for the kill, striking swiftly.

One down, two to go.

Cullen goes on the defensive, holding his shield high and close. He needs to conserve his energy now that he has been given added support. He feels the warmth of a barrier start to creep across his skin again and he decides then to strike, lowering his shield only for a moment.

They continue like this, forming a strategy without even speaking.

Cullen did have to admit that the Prisoner did seem to have decent instincts when it came to the battlefield. Surprising, considering she was a circle mage and most circle mages have never been anywhere near a battle. Not since The Blight anyway.

Another flash of lightning and Cullen realizes the last demon has been struck down. He sheaths his sword and takes a moment to breathe, to rest. He is facing away from the rift, but he hears the crackling of the magic behind him and just as he turns to face the rift he is blinded by a bright flash of green light.

Like that it’s gone.

He turns and sees the Prisoner staring at him. She maintains a neutral expression, an expression he had gotten used to mages wearing in the circle, especially around templars. He narrows his eyes.

The elven mage comes up behind the Prisoner.

“Sealed as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” The elf offers a small smile.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Varric strains his neck to glance up at The Breach.

Cassandra walks up to them behind Varric.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done.” Cullen clears his throat.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the Prisoner’s doing.” Cassandra offers, gesturing over to the Prisoner.

“Lady Roselyn Trevelyan-” Roselyn starts before the Cullen cuts her off.

“I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here” He replies shortly.

“Did you have a backup plan? I’d love to hear what you had planned instead.” Roselyn snapped back and folded her arms over her chest before shifting her weight to her other hip.

_Maker they don’t have time for this. How many soldiers have they already lost?_

He narrows his eyes before turning back to Cassandra. “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.” And with that Cullen and Cassandra silently nod before he kneels down and helped a wounded soldier up.

He was the only other soldier to survive the rift with him. He had approached this rift with 9 other soldiers in total.

“Maker, watch over you – for all our sakes.” He mutters before helping the wounded soldier move forward, he tried to force most of the weight on himself, despite the heavy resistance.

Cullen glances back and finds Roselyn’s piercing gaze on him. Her gaze is intense and unwavering. Unmoving. Her gaze his steel and behind her eyes a storm. He forces himself to look away before helping the soldier off of the field. 


	5. Echoes

“So, Lady Trevelyan?” Varric asks quizzically.

_Fuck._

“Is that supposed to be a question Varric?” Roselyn asks evasively.

“You never did mention that you were a Lady before.” Varric offers.

“I hardly thought it important due to. You know. The prisoner thing. And the demons pouring out of the sky thing.” She mutters under her breath.

“Mages are required to give up all land and titles. The title of Lady hardly matters.” Cassandra adds.

“You also didn’t mention before that you were a Trevelyan.” Varric notes.

“So, you know my family.” Roselyn tries keeping her tone as level as possible, refusing to look him in the face.

“I do all sorts of business across the Free Marches. I’m a businessman.” Varric winks at her.

Roselyn merely hums in response, not really wanting to breach the subject further.

As luck would have it the group approached the chaos and rubble that once was The Temple of Sacred Ashes. One could smell the scent of burning flesh and can taste a distinct metallic taste in the air. Bones and still burning corpses are littered in the rubble of the once (Roselyn assumes) majestic temple. Swallowing her fear, she takes a step forward and leads the group onward.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Solas says finally.

“What’s left of it.” Varric says quietly.

There was the soft sound of stone moving their feet with every step they took towards the temple. Roselyn could feel that The Veil was extremely thin here and she could feel the magic that seeped through the stones she walked on.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” Cassandra says quietly.

The thought did not sit well with Roselyn.

_Why couldn’t she just fucking remember._

“The Breach is a long way up.” Varric grimaces, straining his neck to look up.

They continue to walk forward, and an uneasy feeling continues to settle over Roselyn. What had happened here caused a cataclysmic amount of destruction that she thought would have been impossible from one event alone. So many people ripped away from their families and loved once. So many people just wiped off of the face of Thedas in one moment like they were nothing.

As they came closer to reaching their destination a voice rings out behind them.

“You’re here! Thank the Maker.” Leliana’s voice rings with relief.

Cassandra turns to look at Leliana and gestures to the soldiers surrounding them.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple.”

Leliana nods simply and begins giving her detailed instructions to the men and women following her. Roselyn watches as they intently listen.

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?” Cassandra’s voice cuts in.

“I’ll try, but I don’t know if I can reach that, much less close it. So, unless you plan on launching me into The Breach with a trebuchet…” Roselyn chuckles dryly.

“No. This rift was the first and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal The Breach.” Solas’ eyes remained focused on the rift before them.

“Then let’s find a way down. And be careful.” Cassandra instructs before drawing her weapon.

The group begins down a path that leads them around the large rift. As they get closer to the rift, they hear strange echoes against the stone. A voice rings out, loud and terrifying.

“ _Now Is The Hour Of Our Victory. Bring Forth The Sacrifice.”_

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asks, alarmed.

“At a guess: The person who created The Breach.” Solas offers.

_Sweet Maker what have I gotten myself into._

Roselyn felt so many things at once. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to wake up from this horrible dream. She began counting her breaths again to calm herself down and stared ahead, not wanting to look at any of her companions.

“You know this stuff is _red lyrium,_ Seeker.” Varric’s voice rings out in panic, drawing Roselyn out of her own thoughts.

“I see it Varric.” Cassandra purses her lips together.

“But what’s it _doing_ here?” Alarm still seeping Varric’s voice.

Roselyn glanced at what they were talking about. Large crystal-like formations pierced through the surface of what was left of the Temple. It glowed an angry red color and something about the sight caused Roselyn even more unease. Yet, she could not help but feel drawn to the strange red glowing substance.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Solas mutters quietly.

“It’s evil. Whatever you do. Don’t touch it.” Varric states firmly.

Roselyn does not want to know how he knows that.

_“Keep The Sacrifice Still.”_ The eerie voice echoes once again.

_“Someone! Help me!”_ An unknown voice with an Orlesian accent rings out.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra gasps in alarm, looking around frantically. Almost as if she was expecting to see the Divine.

Together the group gathers and jumps down into the pit, finally reaching the large rift that glowed the same eerie green color as Roselyn’s hand that flared in reaction to its presence.

_“Someone! Help Me”_ Divine Justinia’s voice rings out once more.

_“What’s going on here?”_ Roselyn heard the echoes of her own voice. Her eyes widened in horror and she glanced around at her companions who seemed equally as shocked.

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…” Cassandra starts before being cut off.

_A sudden flash of light cracks like lightning, blinding everyone. Dull graying images pressed before them, as if they were imprinted on the fade and were replaying before their very eyes as if this were a dream… No, a nightmare. Divine Justinia is being restrained by some sort of magic and is being suspended mid-air, a Dark Entity looms over her threateningly. Suddenly, a dull graying image of Roselyn stumbles into the room._

_“What’s going on here?” Roselyn hears her own voice gasp._

_“Run while you can! Warn them!” Justinia’s voice strained._

_“We Have An Intruder.” The Dark Entity moves forward._

_“Kill her. Now.” It commanded._

_Another sudden flash of light cracks like lightning._

“You _WERE_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she… Is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” Cassandra is frantic, starting toward Roselyn.

“I don’t remember.” Roselyn’s voice is barely a whisper.

She cannot believe her own eyes. She was there all along. How could she not remember? Who… or what was that?

“Echoes of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place.” Solas says, his voice sounding almost sad. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” He postulates.

“That means demons. Stand ready!” Cassandra’s voice rings loud and clear as she lowers herself into a fighting stance.

Roselyn raises her hand to the rift, and she feels the crackling energy around her and the pull of the thread that connects her and the fade. With a blinding green flash and an explosion, the large rift opens.

A Pride Demon’s cackle is heard before the Demon is seen.

“Now!” Cassandra’s voice booms over the chaos.


	6. Reverence

_“Roselyn?” She can hear her name being called out._

_She leaps out of bed and is just in her night gown. Her feet hit the cold stone and she begins wandering the halls of the circle._

_It smells like books, new and old. The pages pressed together and the ink, pen, and paper. It smells like new leather and old leather that bind the books together._

_“Roselyn!” The familiar voice calls to her once more._

_Roselyn begins a light jog as she runs through the halls. She tries to call out and finds that she can’t speak, no matter how hard she tries._

_“Roselyn!” The voice is becoming more urgent._

_She spies a door made of rich walnut. Commotion can be heard from the hall and she reaches for the brass handle. It feels cold in her hand._

_A young girl barely eighteen years of age, just past her harrowing is laying on the birthing bed. Her golden ringlets are drenched in sweat and pressed against her forehead; her rosy cheeks turned pale. Her legs are spread apart and there is commotion bustling about the room. Roselyn rushes toward the girl and kneels beside her, grasping her hand in her own and pressing her knuckles to her own lips._

_“Ros, did you find him? Is he coming?” The young girl asks desperately._

_Roselyn, still unable to talk, merely shakes her head in response._

_“He’s supposed to be here! He promised!” The girl begins to sob._

_A Tranquil woman stands beside them now._

_“She will need to start pushing now.” They said in a flat tone._

_“No no no no no no! I can’t- he’s supposed to be here! Tell them Ros, tell them he promised!” The girl cries out._

_Roselyn can feel her own tears streak down her face as she grips the other girl’s hand. Roselyn takes her other hand and smooths the hair away from the girl’s face._

_She begins to scream out in pain._

_“The child is coming.” The Tranquil woman states._

_“Ros I can’t do it-“ the girl croaks._

_Roselyn stands from her kneeling position beside the bed and crawls onto the bed and positions herself behind the other mage. She grips her hand with one hand and holds her shoulder with the other. She spreads her legs and allows the girl to lay back against her chest._

_“The child is coming. She needs to push, or we will lose them both.” The woman states._

_“Push,” Roselyn finally manages to whisper._

_“Ros… he promised…” the girl says weakly._

_“Push!” Roselyn cries out._

____________________________________________________________________

Roselyn gasps.

She feels the cold hit her face first. Then she feels the cold in her toes and fingers, creeping up her hands and feet. Wet tears freeze against her face in the cold air.

Slowly she blinks her eyes open and when the world comes into focus, she notices that she is in a small wooden cabin, covered in random boxes, drying herbs, and a raven in the corner. She slowly sits up and rubs the tears from her face and notices the stiffness of her stiff muscles. Then it hits her.

She replays everything she can remember, from the waking up in the dungeon, to sealing the large rift at the base of The Breach. Did she do it? Did she seal The Breach? Is she being held prisoner? If she was being held prisoner this was definitely a much better cell than her last. They even gave her a bed. Maybe that was her reward for sealing The Breach. _You’ll still be tried for countless murders and for the death of The Divine but hey. Get a good night’s rest._

She glances down and notices she has been stripped down to her smalls and no doubt someone had tried washing away some of the dirt and grime that had covered her skin. She did notice that her blonde hair however did seem as wild as ever. Before she could continue retracing her unconscious steps, an elven woman with reddish-brown hair, tanned skin, and freckles walked through the door. She dropped the small crate of herbs that she had been carrying. Her large dark brown eyes widened when they met with Roselyn’s gray once.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake; I swear!” Her voice sounds panicked.

“Is this another prison?” Roselyn glanced around the cabin; her voice sounded hoarse.

“I… no? I mean, I don’t think so.” The young woman gave her a strange look.

“Can you tell me where I am? Please?” Roselyn rubs her neck and winces. 

As if the situation could not get any stranger, the woman falls to her knees in a… bowing position.

“I beg for your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.” The woman glanced up at her.

Roselyn stares in disbelief.

The woman sits up and starts to panic.

“You’re back in Haven, my Lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!” She cries out.

Roselyn blinks.

The woman was now looking at her wide eyed again.

Roselyn continues to stare at the woman in disbelief for a moment before she slowly starts laughing. She begins laughing harder. And harder. Tears began to prick the corners of her eyes and she brought her hand to her chest as she doubles forward. She begins wheezing and coughing before no noise is able to come out.

The elven woman stares wide eyed.

Roselyn continues laughing until she is out of breath. When she is able to finally calm herself, she throws her head back, staring at the ceiling of the small cabin.

“Then the danger is over.” She whispers in disbelief.

“… The Breach is still in the sky… But that’s what they say.” The woman replies quietly.

“Who’s they?” Roselyn turns to face the elven woman again.

“I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’!” The woman stood very suddenly.

“Where is she?” Roselyn swings her legs over the bed and places her feet on the cold stone before standing and stretching.

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!” The woman left in a panic.

Roselyn begins rummaging through the room for her tattered clothes. She finds a new pair of brown leather breaches, a green linen shirt, and a pair of thick wool socks. Roselyn realizes she has never been so thankful for a good pair of socks before. She quickly finger-combs her hair and realizes she will need to find an actual comb soon if she does not want to cut her hair again, but she still tries to neatly braid her hair to the side to the best she can. She dresses quickly and scans the rest of the cabin quickly before spotting a thin brown leather vest and a faded greenish-gray cloak. Once she is satisfied that she is warm enough she slips on a comfortable pair of boots that were only a half a size too large.

She exits the cabin and is startled by the sight of two-dozen soldiers lining the path, saluting and kneeling in her direction. She begins slowly walking past them and she can feel their eyes crawling all over her and suddenly she is beginning to feel self-conscious for the first time since… Maker she cannot remember.

Once she passes the soldiers lining the path her eyes widen as she notices a fairly large crowd before her.

“That’s her! That’s the _Herald of Andraste._ They said when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her.” A younger red-haired man whispers to a woman with hair and skin deep as night next to him.

“Hush! We shouldn’t disturb her.” She says in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Why did Lady Cassandra have her in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything?” The man tilts his head to the side, staring at Roselyn.

She rushes past the crowd, wanting to get past them as soon as possible. This was madness. Complete and utter madness. Who would come up with such a tale?

“Blessings upon you, _Herald of Andraste!_ ” An unknown voice cries out.

Roselyn’s head was spinning, and she felt her chest constricting as she rushed past the large group of people and into the confines of the chantry. This was absolutely not happening. No one knew what was going on any more than she did at this very moment, of that she was confident. They all saw the same images at The Temple of Sacred Ashes, and in none of the echoes from the fade did they see ‘Andraste’.

“Chancellor Roderick says that the Chantry wants nothing to do with us.” One voice speaks in the distance.

“That’s not Chancellor Roderick’s decision, Sister.” Another replies.

“Most of the Grand Clerics died at the Conclave. Who will lead us now?” The first voice asks.

“Andraste didn’t have Grand Clerics telling her what to do, and she managed nonetheless.” The second voice replies firmly.

“You expect us to be like Andraste?” The first voice asks, bewildered.

“Someone must.” The second voice speaks in confidence and reverence.

Roselyn wants to vomit.

_Sweet Maker what have I gotten myself into this time._

* * *

Roselyn walks through Great Hall of the Chantry. She can hear their voices echo and carry quietly, as the door at the end of the grand hall remains closed. Step by step her feet feel like lead. She can differentiate two different voices.

“Have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.” Chancellor Roderick’s voice echoes through the Chantry.

“I do not believe she is guilty.” Cassandra states firmly.

“The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.” The Chancellor argues.

“I do not believe that.” Cassandra’s voice remains calm as she argues with him.

“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry.” He answers coolly.

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours.” Cassandra lowers her voice.

_It’s now or never._

Roselyn opens the door to the chamber at the end of the great hall. Beside the door stood two Templars. Chancellor Roderick, Cassandra, and Leliana stand beside a large wooden table.

“Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” The Chancellor gestured to the Templar guards. He was red in the face and had developed a slight sheen on his brow. He looked as if he had been arguing for hours.

“Disregard that and leave us.” Cassandra instructed.

The guards salute before leaving.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.” Roderick hisses with venom.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” Cassandra narrows her eyes and looms over the Chancellor.

“I did everything I could to close the Breach. It almost killed me.” Roselyn’s heart began beating very quickly.

“Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.” The Chancellor replies with a snide remark.

“Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.” Cassandra crosses her arms before her.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.” Leliana finally spoke up, taking one step closer to the Chancellor.

“ _I_ am a suspect?” Roderick replies in disbelief.

“You, and many others.” Leliana stares unblinkingly.

“But _not_ the prisoner?” Roderick begins raising his voice again.

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help.” Cassandra states matter-of-factly.

“So, her survival, that _thing_ on her hand – all a coincidence?” Roderick sneers.

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.” Cassandra’s eyes travelled from Roderick to Roselyn.

“You cannot honestly believe that I am any kind of ‘Chosen One’” Roselyn begins to laugh nervously.

“We are all subject to the will of the Maker, whether we wish it or not.” Cassandra frowns.

“The Breach remains, and your mark is our only hope of closing it.” Leliana cuts in before Roselyn has any time to reply.

“This is not for you to decide!” Roderick states adamantly.

Cassandra turns to a nearby chair and picks up a very large leather-bound book and slams it on the table in front of Roderick, staring him in the face during the process.

“You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this very moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” Cassandra narrows her eyes before taking a step towards Chancellor Roderick.

As she takes a step closer to him, he takes one step back. Cassandra begins backing Roderick up against the dusty stone walk while pressing a finger to his chest, getting very near to his face.

“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.” Her voice level and her eyes narrow.

Roderick holds his glare with Cassandra before squeezing past her dominating presence. Muttering quietly as he walks out of the room. Cassandra slams the door behind him and places her hands on her hips before turning to the other others.

“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” Leliana looks down at Justinia’s writ.

“But we have no choice: We must act now. With you at our side.” Cassandra’s eyes glance towards Roselyn.

“You’re trying to start a holy war.” Roselyn mutters in disbelief.

“We are already at war. You are already involved. Its mark is upon you. As to whether war is holy… that depends on what we discover.” Cassandra’s eyes remain on Roselyn.

“When I woke up, I certainly didn’t picture this outcome.” Roselyn presses a hand to her forehead and tries focusing on the wall behind Cassandra, fully aware of all of the eyes that remain on her.

“Neither did we.” Leliana answers.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late.” Cassandra continues.

Roselyn glances back to Cassandra. They stare at each other for a moment and she finds herself unable to speak. Instead, she just nods, and Cassandra reaches a gloved hand out in front of her, toward Roselyn. Roselyn takes it and firmly shakes it.

_There’s no backing out now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Circle Flashbacks~! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Reality

_Screaming._

_Cullen grabs his sword and runs through the circle to find the source. He sprints up the stairs, climbing higher and higher, until he has climbed several stories. He is met by a pair of brown eyes. So dark they almost look black. Have they always been this dark? Her eyes are wide with horror and he feels his heart clench. Her soft pale skin looks ashen and he reaches forward with one hand reaching for her cheek, dropping his weapon in the process. Her hair has fallen from its normal style and drops past her waist. He tries to remember if he’s ever seen her hair like this. His hand touches her cheek, and she feels cold, like he is touching stone. Tears fall freely from her round black eyes as she stares forward, looking through him. Her lips part as if she is about to say something to him._

_“Johanna-“ He begins to plead, “we need to leave now.”_

_The tears falling freely over his fingertips turn red. He can feel the red liquid run up his arm but for some reason he doesn’t care. He grasps her hand with his free hand, dropping his shield in the process. She opens her mouth wider and she lets out a blood chilling scream that causes every hair on his body to stand up. Her mouth continues to open wider and wider and soon he can see almost every one of her teeth. He can’t stop staring at her. He can’t stop holding her. Her eyes turn black and her bloody tears are now streaming into her open screaming mouth._

_“Johanna-“ He cries out._

“Johanna!” He cries out.

Cullen startles awake in a cold sweat, but the rest of his body is on fire. He throws the thin blankets off of his body and he sits up right staring into the darkness. He is hyperventilating and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

He rests his head in his hands and begins breathing deeply.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It’s just a dream.

Cullen knows he’s lying to himself. He knows it’s not just a dream. He knows that this nightmare was once his reality. It’s been more than ten years, but he can’t shake these thoughts and these memories won’t leave him. Not the worst ones anyways. Of course, not the worst ones. These memories are going to be the memories he will take to his grave and they will continue to find him during the dark hours of the night when everyone else is asleep.

He slips on his breeches and a light linen shirt, knowing he would not be sleeping anymore tonight. In the darkness he fumbles for a candle and begins leafing through a thick stack of reports.

“Maker’s breath,” he mutters under his breath.

* * *

“S-should somebody wake him?” A worried voice stutters.

“Maker do you have a death wish?!” A hushed voice whispers.

“Drills were supposed to start an hour ago…” The first voice whispers back.

“What is going on here?!” A man with a distinctive Starkhaven accent calls out.

Bright light streams into the tent and a blast of cold air freezes Cullen’s face. He feels a sore pain in the side of his neck and his right shoulder. In a moment he startles and jumps up from the crate he had been using as a seat. It takes a few moments for him to realize what is happening. As his eyes adjust to the light, he finds three men standing in front of him, two of whom have absolutely horrified expressions on their faces, the man behind then trying to contain a chuckle.

“So, the Commander does sleep after all!” Captain Rylan grins with a lopsided grin.

Cullen let out scoff.

“Shouldn’t you two be _doing_ something?” Cullen narrows his eyes at the two other soldiers.

Immediately the two men next to Rylan stand at attention.

“Drills sir!” One cries out.

Cullen goes wide eyed for a moment and looks at Rylan, who is doing his best to maintain decorum. Cullen clears his throat.

“Tell your commanding officers to run drills in the afternoon. Ten laps around the lake.” he coughs.

Both soldiers go wide eyed and salute before exiting.

“You don’t need to punish the poor lads.” Rylan let out a chuckle as soon as the two other men left.

“It’s not a punishment.” Cullen rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns.

“Did you have pleasant dreams, _your highness_?” Rylan takes a seat on a crate opposite of his make-shift desk.

Cullen scoffs in response before straightening up the reports on his desk. He had managed to get through half of the stack before falling asleep sometime in the early morning it seems.

“Did the prisoner- erm… Lady Trevelyan awaken yet?” Cullen continues riffling through reports, half reading what he had already read the night before.

Lady Trevelyan. Cullen remembers the intensity of her eyes and her wild blonde hair falling out of her braid. He remembers the look of concentration on her face, with her brow furrowed and her pink lips gently pursed, as she manipulated the fade around them.

“You would know before I did,” Rylan shrugs. “I keep hearing the strangest reports from the soldiers who fought at the rift below The Breach.”

Cullen merely hums in response. It was true. He had read the reports from both Leliana and Cassandra. Both reports were equally strange. Both Cassandra’s and Leliana’s reports, though vastly different, contained the same shocking outline of events. 

Before either man could say anything else a soldier quickly pushes passed the entrance to Cullen’s personal tent with a wide-eyed look of urgency on his face. Before Cullen could open his mouth to say anything the out of breath soldier cuts him off.

“The Herald! The Herald of Andraste is awake!” He manages between breaths.

Both Cullen and Rylan immediately stand.

“She’s in the Chantry with Sister Nightingale and Seeker Cassandra!” The soldier suddenly remembers to stand at attention.

Cullen nods and grants the man leave before seeking out the rest of his armor.

“I’m going to need you to run drills today.” He starts instructing the captain.

He began sifting behind all the other crates looking for his other damn boot.

“And I’ll need you to brief the other commanding officers.” He turns to look at Rylan who was holding up his other boot.

Cullen takes it gratefully.

“Do you think she remembers anything else?” Rylan asks.

After Cullen finishes lacing up his boots, he stands up to face Rylan and rubs the back of his neck. That was the question they had all been wondering. He ponders for a moment before continuing to strap into the rest of his armor.

“I think the better question is, will she continue to help us? The Breach almost killed her once. We have no idea what kind of person she is.” Cullen says while tightening his breastplate.

_“Did you have a backup plan? I’d love to hear what you had planned instead.” Roselyn snaps back and folds her arms over her chest before shifting her weight to her other hip._

“She already helped us once.” Rylan shrugs, folding his arms over his chest.

“With a knife to her back and demons at her throat. Sure, The Breach threatens us all, but it is easier to ignore the danger without demons falling out of the sky and mass chaos.” Cullen sighs.

“Seeker Cassandra thinks she will help us.” Rylan offers.

“Not everyone is as driven by as urgent of a sense of duty as Cassandra is.” Cullen fastens his gauntlets.

“That’s true. But she’s spent the most amount of time with The Herald, she probably has the best sense of who she is.” Rylan replies.

“Right because they chatted for hours over tea.” Cullen responds sarcastically.

“I guess you’ll have to go see for yourself.” Rylan picks up Cullen’s gloves off of the desk and offers them to him.

“I don’t want any more reports of soldiers getting into fights.” Cullen takes the gloves and begins sliding them onto his fingers.

“I’ll tell them that any soldier who gets into a fight has to strip naked and jump into the lake.” Rylan grins.

Cullen pulled his cloak over his shoulders and smoothed back his hair before exiting his tent with Rylan following behind him.

“Tell the commanding officers they have to jump in too if anyone from their units starts anything.” Cullen offers a small smile.

“That will go over well.” Rylan laughs.

“Then no more soldiers should be getting into any more fights, now should they?” Cullen chuckles before walking away.


	8. Pious

Cullen stands in the dimly lit chamber beside Josephine. They were awaiting the arrival of Cassandra and Lady Trevelyan. Josephine is fretting as usual and muttering a to-do list under her breath. Most of which involves writing to a number of nobles in Thedas.

Lady Trevelyan, now being referred to as _The Herald of Andraste_. Cullen thinks back to the woman with piercing eyes, eyes the same color as the gray clouds that seemed to blanket the skies of Haven every day. He thinks back to those same eyes, carefully trained on him and watching his every movement in battle, predicting his movements before he even made them.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on.

“What did you think of Trevelyan’s fighting at the rift, Commander?” Leliana’s voice cut through the dull pounding behind his skull.

“She is… proficient. Considering.” Cullen shrugs.

“Considering?” Josephine asks.

“Considering she’s been in a circle her entire life and has had no reason to fight.” Cullen sighed.

She by no means was a master of the battlefield but her skills were adequate to say the least.

They all stood in an awkward silence before Cassandra and Lady Trevelyan walked through the door. Trevelyan looked very different than when Cullen had seen her last. The rags, for one, had been traded for an entirely new set of clothes and a warm cloak. Nothing fancy, but clean and in good wear. Her platinum blonde hair was neatly braided in a braid that reached just past her shoulder. Her skin had been washed of the dirt and ash that had covered it and now he could see how porcelain and pale she truly was. Her gaze, however, remained the same.

They lock eyes immediately.

She was beautiful, but not the type of beauty that sailors and soldiers sing about. Her face was mostly made of soft lines with large and round gray eyes, a small nose that remained straight and unbroken from years of privilege, and lips that were full and drawn in a straight line. Her lips alone could cause anyone to stare and Cullen fought to keep his eyes locked with hers.

His hand instinctually rested on the pommel of his sword, grounding him. 

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” Cassandra gestures to Cullen.

“It was only for a moment on the field. I’m pleased you survived.” Is all he can reply.

Lady Trevelyan’s eyes remain trained on him for a moment, as if she is stripping away bits of himself and trying to read through his thoughts. She nods politely, unblinking and says nothing.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.” Cassandra proceeds to gesture towards Josephine.

“I’ve heard much. A pleasure to meet you at last.” Josephine nods and smiles warmly at her.

Trevelyan’s analyzing gray eyes light up for a moment and smiles back and nods.

“And you of course know Sister Leliana.” Cassandra nods towards Leliana.

“My position here involves a degree of…” Leliana begins.

“She is our spymaster.” Cassandra cut her off.

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.” Leliana sighs.

“Pleased to meet you all, I am looking forward to working together.” Lady Trevelyan nods before curtsying. Cullen recognizes it as a marcher style.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close The Breach for good.” Cassandra begins.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.” Leliana quickly responds definitively.

Cullen scoffs.

“And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.” He frowns.

“We would need to convince them to stop slaughtering mages, and then you want them to then _help_ yet another mage?” Trevelyan raises her eyebrows and folds her arms defensively over her chest.

Ah. Of course. Cullen had not previously considered Trevelyan’s opinion on the Mage-Templar war, though he is surprised considering Leliana’s reports declared that the Ostwick circle remained neutral until a mysterious fire caused the entire circle to go up in flames, killing most in the tower. Leliana was still trying to find out how Trevelyan managed to survive and who had caused the fire in the first place.

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—" Cassandra begins again.

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress The Breach, weaken it so—" Cullen begins to argue.

“Pure speculation.” Leliana rolls her eyes.

“What makes you the authority on magical theory, _Commander_?” Trevelyan quirks an eyebrow. Her words were careful yet cutting.

His heartbeat quickens. The last thing they need right now is another magical disaster. With The Breach, Cullen knows that mages are more susceptible to corruption. If enough of them are brought too close to The Breach, who knows what could try to push through. This, of course, does not even touch on the point of what were to happen if they pour too much magic into a _mark_ that they know little to nothing about. This all could very well be a recipe for disaster, and he will _not_ let The Inquisition become his latest regret. He refused.

“ _I_ was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.” He narrows his eyes and his hand grips the pommel of his sword just a little harder.

Lady Trevelyan’s cold gray eyes freeze on him. She remains perfectly still before taking one step toward him with her hands clasped behind her.

“I will not be working with the Templars.” She simply says, as if she were talking about the _damn weather._

“It’s not solely your decision—”

Cullen opens his mouth and begins to argue but Josephine cuts him off. The room feels tense and awkward, but he doesn’t care. He notices both Cassandra and Leliana exchange looks out of the corner of his eye.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically. So, arguing about this is pointless.” Josephine sighs.

“Of course, they have.” She rolls her eyes.

Cassandra frowns.

“Some are calling you, The Herald of Andraste; and that frightens The Chantry.” Josephine says.

“The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.” Josephine continues in a neutral tone.

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.” Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“He’s a very charming fellow, isn’t he?” Trevelyan mutters sarcastically, her mouth turns up in a rare, crooked smile.

“It limits our options. Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.” Josephine bites her lip.

There is an awkward pause.

“Just tell me again. How am _I_ The Herald of Andraste?” Trevelyan’s eyes were focused on the table in between them all.

_She is so damn difficult to read._

“People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped The Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.” Cassandra replies.

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading—” Leliana begins.

“Which we have not.” Cassandra interrupts.

“The point is: everyone is talking about you.” Leliana’s eyes were carefully watching Trevelyan. Cullen knew she was examining every facial expression change, every mannerism, every gesture. If anyone was going to manage to read Trevelyan, it was Leliana.

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” Cullen narrows his eyes.

“I’m no herald of anything. Particularly Andraste.” Trevelyan scoffs, not looking up to meet his gaze.

She was staring down at the maps at the war table in front of her. Her full lips draw into a small frown as she gazes intensely at the small pieces littering the maps.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.” Cullen merely shrugs.

“I’m sure you do too, no doubt.” Trevelyan mutters lowly.

Cullen frowns.

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you are that sign.” Leliana cuts through the awkwardness, trying not to start an argument.

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.” Josephine adds.

“Will the Chantry attack us?” Trevelyan glances up.

“With what? They have only words at their disposal.” He shakes his head.

“And yet, they may bury us with them.” Josephine frowns slightly, gazing down at the notes she was carrying.

“So, if I wasn’t with the Inquisition…” Trevelyan folds her arms over her chest and frowns again.

“Let’s be honest: They would have censured us no matter what.” He offers.

“And you not being here isn’t an option.” Cassandra said definitively.

“There is something you can do. A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.” Leliana stares again at Trevelyan with intensity in her eyes.

“Why would someone from the Chantry help me, a declared heretic? And a mage on top of that?” Trevelyan raises an eyebrow.

“I understand she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she doesn’t agree with her sisters?” Leliana offers.

Lady Trevelyan continues staring at the maps on the war table and bites down on her bottom lip. Cullen could see her brain working through the information she had been given. Cullen exchanges a glance between the others.

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there.” Cullen offers.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.” Josephine smiles another genuine smile.

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.” Cassandra nods.

Trevelyan’s head snaps at the mention of the use of her new title. The Herald of Andraste. As Cullen could tell, she hardly seemed a pious woman, and the name seemed to bother her more than she had been letting on initially. She turns on her heel and leaves without a word to the rest. His eyes carefully watch her as she walks past the Chantry sisters without another word, her careful braid swaying gently with each passing step.

“Well, that was…” Josephine begins.

“Very interesting indeed.” Leliana finished.

“I don’t think we should discount the Templars entirely. Pouring too much magic into that mark might—” Cullen shakes his head.

“We will continue discussing this at another time. I must prepare for the journey ahead.” Cassandra turns and follows behind Trevelyan.

* * *

_Of course, he’s a fucking templar._

His hair was much more controlled than it had been when she had last seen him, but the dark circles under his eyes remained. She should have realized what he was before. The posture, the intensity, the way he had felt her weakened barriers. It all made sense. He had originally perceived her as a threat, and would continue to do so like every templar she had met before him.

Roselyn quickly walks out of the Chantry. She could hear footsteps following her in the distance and she quickly ducks out of the door so they couldn’t catch up to her. She makes her way through Haven, not stopping to chat with anyone.

Her blood was boiling. She can’t seem to escape the inner trappings of the circle it seems, even here.

“If it isn’t the Herald of Andraste herself!” She hears Varric’s voice cut through the noise of the village and her thoughts.

“Absolutely not. We’re not starting that.” Roselyn continues walking toward her cabin with Varric following her closely.

“Unfortunately, Sparky, I think it’s going to stick regardless.” Varric shrugs nonchalantly.

Roselyn stopped in her steps and looks at Varric.

“Excuse me?” She blinks.

“What?” He looks around.

“What did you call me?” She makes a face.

“Sparky?” Varric raises an eyebrow.

“That’s a _terrible_ nickname!” She scoffs at him and smiles a crooked smile.

“I don’t know… I kind of like it.” Varric smiles and raises his arms in a shrug.

“I sound like the family dog.” She snorts and continues towards her cabin.

“And now you’ve ruined it—” Varric laughs.

“Good.” Roselyn flips her braid over her shoulder.

Eventually they stop in front of Roselyn’s cabin. Roselyn opens the door and Varric stands in the doorway and leans against the door frame. Roselyn begins leafing through the cabin, looking for anything and everything that would help her on her journey to The Hinterlands to meet this Mother Giselle. She had not brought many belongings with her, but the few that she had brought were laid neatly in a drawer in a beautifully crafted dresser. She non-discretely slips these belongings into a bag that had been left abandoned by whoever had been using this cabin previously.

“So… Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot… are you doing alright?” Roselyn turns and sees Varric watching her from the doorway.

_Shit. Don’t ask me that._

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Roselyn looks away and forces a laugh.

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘One day you’re the most wanted criminal in all of Thedas to becoming _The Herald of Andraste_ ’. Most people would have spread that out over more than three days.” Varric quirks an eyebrow.

“Well, I guess I’m not most people then. Am I?” Roselyn continues to refuse to look at him, instead she continues to rifle through drawers and crates.

“No. You’re not. But listen, I’ve seen what the ‘Hero’ thing does to people. I know it’s not easy and it never ends well.” He says.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a ‘hero’ or ‘chosen’, yeah?” She finally looks at him.

“Oh yeah. Being blessed with a magic hand and being the only one to save us all from the Breach. I forgot that’s not considered hero material. My bad.” He chuckles.

“Because this,” she raises her hand. “Is a blessing. Right.” She rolls her eyes at him.

“What are you doing anyways?” Varric asks.

“We’re going to The Hinterlands to meet a Chantry Mother who has apparently requested to speak with me.” Roselyn frowns.

“I take it you’re not exactly the pious type?” He snorts.

“What gave you that idea? I’ll have you know I have Andraste’s name tattooed across my ass, thank you.” she replies sarcastically.

Varric burst out laughing.

“She’s got jokes!”

“Yeah. She’s got jokes.” Roselyn mutters as she continues to riffle through the drawers of the dresser.

“You should use some of those jokes on Curly, he could use a smile or two.” He sighs.

“Curly?” She inquires.

“Cullen.” He nods.

_Shit._

“Do you have a nickname for everyone?” She shakes her head, wanting to avoid the subject of ‘Cullen’.

“Only the ones I like.” He winks.

“What’s Solas’ nickname?” She asks.

“Chuckles.” He answers with a grin.

Now, it was Roselyn’s turn to laugh.

“Listen, I was going to go to the tavern.” Varric begins.

“Good luck with that.” She mutters.

“Care to join? _Oh, pious one_?” He smirks.

The idea of a warm meal pops into her head and Roselyn realizes she has not eaten. The tavern is probably warmer than her own cabin anyways...

“You know what Varric? Sure.” Roselyn sighs and stands upright and smooths out her clothes.

Varric grins triumphantly.


	9. Wolf Trapped in a Corner

Roselyn regrets going to the tavern with Varric. She drinks an entire pint before ever receiving her food, while she has never been much of a drinker, she also had not eaten the entire day. She had spent the entire night listening to Varric’s stories, and the stories of the other soldiers and villagers that were all cramped in the small tavern. Eventually, when Varric had decided she had enough, he attempted to help her to her cabin.

When she wakes the next morning, she realizes she had slept on the floor.

_Wonderful._

She feels a dull pounding, tugging on the back of her skull and her eyes ache with exhaustion.

She rubs her eyes before slipping into a warm pair of dark leather breaches, a green linen shirt, a matching leather vest, and a lightweight but _warm_ coat. After slipping her boots and cloak on, she exits her cabin and finds Cassandra and Solas already waiting near the gates of Haven. The sun has not even risen above the mountains yet and the sky remains dark. At a distance it is difficult to read their faces, but up close Cassandra is all too easy to read.

Roselyn had packed light. Only her staff, a small leatherbound journal, and a few of the essentials.

The cool brisk air bites at her face and she pulls her cloak tighter around her.

“Glad you could join us.” Cassandra says, unamused.

Roselyn merely hums in response and tries to rub out the kink in her neck. 

Moments later the group spy Varric making his way over, looking well rested.

“We don’t have all day, _Varric._ ” Cassandra is now clearly annoyed.

“Relax, Seeker. The sun isn’t even up yet.” Varric stretches.

“We should have left an hour ago.” Cassandra narrows her eyes.

Varric merely brushes her off and they continue past the gates of Haven. The sun just barely peaking over the mountains and gently lighting their path.

Cullen was waiting outside the gates of Haven.

“Commander.” Roselyn says blankly.

“Herald.” Cullen returns.

Roselyn makes a face of disgust at the title.

Varric glances sideways at Solas.

“We will send frequent reports during our travels, Cullen. Inquisition soldiers are awaiting our arrival in the Hinterlands?” Cassandra cuts in.

“Yes. Speak with Scout Harding upon your arrival in the Hinterlands. She has been tasked with assisting you once you have arrived.” Cullen nods.

“Then we shall speak upon our return to Haven. Good luck Commander.” Cassandra responds.

“You as well, Cassandra.” Cullen nods again.

“See ya, Curly.” Varric winks.

Cullen sighs.

“Farewell, Commander.” Solas offers a short wave.

“Goodbye, Solas.” Cullen replies.

“Commander.” Roselyn says shortly.

“Herald.” Cullen returns.

Solas glances sideways at Varric.

Together the companions walk away from Haven and down the path leading towards the direction of The Hinterlands. The Inquisition had few horses to spare and even fewer that were even capable of making the journey to The Hinterlands, so they journey on foot.

They begin their journey in silence. The only sound being their feet crunching in snow.

After a couple hours of walking, Roselyn soon realizes that she is not physically prepared for the trip ahead. When she had traveled from the Free Marches to Ferelden, she had done so over a longer period of time and in much shorter spurts. She also had taken up passage on a ship crossing the Waking Sea to Jader, where she then only had a short journey to The Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“So, Seeker.” Varric begins.

“No.” Cassandra states flatly.

“Come on! You don’t even know what I was about to say!” Varric pretends to sound hurt for a moment, the humor threatening to break through his façade.

“I don’t have to. It was probably useless like your usual chatter.” Cassandra waves her hand nonchalantly as they continue down the path.

Varric chuckles.

The group continues in silence. Cassandra leading the way down the path, with Varric following a few paces behind her, Roselyn then following a few paces behind Varric with Solas keeping pace next to her. They stop for breaks every once in a while, when someone needs water, or if someone needs to make any adjustments to their gear.

“So how long will it take for us to reach The Hinterlands?” Roselyn asks as she wipes the little bit of sweat collecting at her brow during one of their stops.

“At this rate, it will probably take us about five more days.” Cassandra takes out a map and examines it.

“Shit.” Varric mutters.

“What exactly were you expecting?” Solas quirks his head, looking at Varric.

“I don’t know Chuckles, but I already have blisters. And my blisters have blisters. I’m not exactly the most… Nature-loving dwarf out there.” Varric complains.

“I believe you are far more accustomed to travel than Roselyn. She has spent most of her life in the circle.” Solas smirks.

“Actually, I haven’t.” Roselyn stretches while sitting on a rock.

All three of her companion’s heads whip around and look at her.

_Shit._

She had to open her big mouth. These were the types of conversations she was trying to avoid having. There was no reason to dig into her past like this, especially when Cassandra was already irritable. But she had to open her big mouth.

“What do you mean exactly?” Cassandra cocks her head to the side.

“Well. I did not leave for the circle until I was fifteen. I am currently twenty-eight. Technically that’s still not even half of my life.” Roselyn tries to say nonchalantly without looking Cassandra in the eye.

“Fifteen is pretty old to come into your magic.” Cassandra says suspiciously.

“I never said I came into my magic at fifteen.” Roselyn shrugs.

“Your parents illegally kept you from the circle?” Cassandra asks with disappointment dripping in her voice.

“That’s also not what I said.” Roselyn stands and gathers her items, preparing to move on toward the path.

“You kept it from them.” Cassandra says wide eyed.

Varric glances sideways at Solas who glances back and shrugs.

“I was hardly actively hiding my magic from them. They were very busy people.” Roselyn tries to joke.

Cassandra frowns.

“I believe we should find a good place to camp for the evening before it gets too dark.” Solas interjects, changing the subject.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Varric stands up from the rock he was sitting on and claps his hands together.

They continue onward for another hour before they find a clearing large enough that is suitable for a campsite. The area had a decent amount of tree coverage, allowing them some sort of coverage. The foliage and greenery, vastly different than that of Haven, despite only traveling a short distance. It was still cold, but the bitter wind did not bite their skin and cause them to tug their cloaks closer to their bodies, which Roselyn greatly appreciated. Ferelden was much colder than her home in the Free Marches. Ostwick was located by the sea, and it was cooler than most Marcher cities due to its location, but it was nothing compared to the temperate climate she’s found in Ferelden during her travels.

They begin divvying up tasks amongst themselves for the night. Solas, in charge of the fire and cooking a semi-edible meal, Cassandra and Roselyn set up the tents, and Varric helping Solas by gathering the firewood for the night.

Cassandra sets up her tent with ease, as if she had performed the task a hundred times. Roselyn struggled, however. This was not shocking however, due to the fact that Roselyn had barely made any sort of semblance of a shelter in her life. The few times only recently in fact, during her travels in Ferelden. After Cassandra helps Roselyn finish setting up the tents, Cassandra sits next to the fire and begins scribbling furiously in a leatherbound journal. Her square jaw grinding in concentration and her eyes narrowing as she rereads what she has already written.

_She’s going to rip the damn pages._

Roselyn blinks.

Roselyn looks around their campsite and begins to forage around for anything of use. She finds what she recognizes as elfroot and embrium, these would be useful for a number of basic poultices and potions back at haven. She did not have much skill with alchemy herself, but she wanted to make sure she helped as much as she could. As she collects the various plants she thinks back to the girl with curly blonde hair and blue eyes that would light any room she walked into.

_“Ros, look at my little elfroot! It’s so cute!” She laughs while shoving the potted plant in Roselyn’s face._

_“Remind me again, how is a plant cute exactly?” Roselyn laughs._

Roselyn frowns. It was just a memory, but through the years she had discovered it was best not to dwell on these things. Lest she bury herself in them. Drowning in words of the past that continue to cut into her like a slow dull knife.

After Varric is satisfied by their collection of firewood for the night, he takes a seat opposite of Cassandra across the fire and pulls out his own leatherbound journal and begins jotting some things down. Occasionally taking his pen and pressing it to his lips while he’s in mid thought. Every so often, he smiles down at the page.

Solas takes a stick and occasionally pokes the fire, turning over the logs, remaining silent.

Roselyn sits in between Varric and Cassandra, across from Solas and they eat in silence.

Roselyn looks up at the stars. They were one thing that she didn’t hate about the Ferelden wilderness. The sky was lit up by a million tiny little lights and Roselyn found that she could just stare at the heavens for hours. 

“I think I will take the first watch.” Solas’ calm voice pierces through the silence.

“I’ll take watch with you.” Roselyn says, not looking away from the night sky.

“Wake me when your watch is over.” Cassandra stands and makes her way to the tent she shares with Roselyn.

“I guess that’s my cue.” Varric smirks and stretches before making his way to the tent he shares with Solas.

Out of her eye, Roselyn sees Solas turn to look at her.

“Yes, Solas?” She asks, still looking up at the stars.

“I am impressed.” He says simply.

“By what?” She snorts.

“The majority of mages come into their abilities when they’re about eight or nine years old. How many years did you hide your abilities from your parents?” He asks.

“Eight. I hid my abilities for eight years.” She glances at him.

“Ah. And why did you?” He cocks his head to the side.

“Well, I guess there’s the obvious. I didn’t want to leave my family, but also I guess I was never really afraid of my magic.” She shrugs.

“I see.” Solas glances up at the stars and Roselyn follows his gaze.

“You managed to avoid the circles altogether.” She states.

“Yes.” He answers simply.

“And how did you manage to do that?” She asks.

“I am careful.” He merely shrugs.

Roselyn hums in response. Solas was wise and had well thought out answers, but rarely did he ever reveal any personal information about himself. Varric was witty comebacks and sideways glances. Cassandra was a driving sense of duty and rarely had time for nonsense. They were an odd group, but Roselyn didn’t mind her traveling companions. It was better than travelling alone. The company was a welcome change sure, but it was also comforting knowing that she had people watching her back.

“Solas?” She asks.

“Yes?” He responds.

“You said that you have studied the fade. What can you tell me about The Breach?” She turns to look at him once more.

“Simply put, it is a tear in The Veil between this world and The Fade, allowing spirits to enter the world physically. Small tears occur naturally when magic weakens the veil, or when spirits cluster at an area to see many deaths, but your mark allows you to exert some control over The Breach. That means it was created deliberately.” His soft brown eyes meet hers and his face remains unchanged.

“So, it’s similar to a rift then. Just larger.” She blinks.

“In a sense. Just like how a small cut is similar to a gaping wound. They both bleed, but one presents a more immediate danger.” Solas nods.

“And my hand is the hand that sews the wound shut.” Roselyn glances down at her hand. It had not bothered her since she awoke after their failed attempt at sealing The Breach.

“Your hand is the thread, able to pass between this world and The Fade. It is the key that helps hold the wound together.” The intensity of his gaze burns as he stares at her.

Roselyn continues looking down at her hand.

“Does it bother you?” He asks.

“Not anymore.” She yawns.

They continue to sit in silence, Roselyn’s eyes trained on the stars. She had always been fascinated by the beauty of the stars at night and often as a child she would sneak out of bed, sometimes with Marlowe, and find her way to her favorite balcony and lay flat on her back and stare into the abyss of the night sky. It was one of the few times where she truly felt at peace. At first when she was taken to The Circle, Roselyn often laid in her bed and silently cried at night, wishing she could see the stars, wishing for her favorite balcony. She would often remember naming the stars and constellations with her brother, and as she grew older, stealing maps of the night sky from her father’s study and trying to find them against the stark black contrast of the void above.

When she had passed her Harrowing, she was given a room of her own. It was small, comparable to the size of a broom closet in her family’s estate, but it gifted her with a small window. Her small escape and her greatest treasure. Only this time it was different, this time she was alone, with only the sound of the sea waves crashing against the rocks below there to ground her, holding her down, afraid of what might happen if she stared at the stars too long.

“Which one is your favorite?” Solas’ voice almost makes her jump.

She glances at him and offers a rare smile.

“Fulmenos.” She chuckles.

“What do you find so funny about that particular constellation?” Solas cocks his head to the side again.

“My brother and I read in one of our father’s books that Fulmenos depicts a bolt of lightning being thrown by a vengeful god. It has been associated with every god imaginable, and the targets of this act of wrath varies from the lost city of Barindur to a bard who made a shitty pun. As children we thought the idea of an immortal being striking down a lowly man for bad humor was magnificent.” She smirks.

“Ah. I can see why that would be appealing to children.” Solas chuckles.

“Do you have a favorite?” she asks.

“Fenrir.” He says simply, gazing up to the heavens. 

* * *

The companions were walking along the beaten path in the Hinterlands with their newly acquired horses. They had accomplished a lot during their time in the area. They had cleared the crossroads and established a camp for many of the refugees in the area, they had met with Mother Giselle who offered her services to the fledgling Inquisition, they had even secured horses and aid from Horse Master Dennet. It had taken them in total two weeks to accomplish all that they had set out to do, and now the party was on their way back to Haven.

“So as a Seeker, you’re the highest ranked person in the Inquisition. But you’re not in charge.” Varric says.

“Leliana’s rank equals my own insofar as our rank means anything outside The Chantry.” Cassandra sighs.

“But you want to get shit done, right?” Varric asks, walking two paces behind Cassandra.

“I declared the Inquisition, but I don’t know that I’m best suited to command it. Perhaps you’re interested in the position since you seem so interested?” Cassandra smirks.

“Oh no you don’t. Leave me out of that mess.” Varric chuckles.

Roselyn laughs along with the group and walks beside Varric, with Solas walking quietly behind them. The skies were blue, and the sun beat down on them as they continued on the path. Roselyn takes in the moment to enjoy the much-needed warmth on her face.

A twig snaps.

Roselyn hears Solas stop behind her and Varric and she turns to look over her shoulder. She feels the pull of the fade before the barrier settles across her skin, causing an all-familiar tingling sensation and the hair to stand up on her neck. Solas lowers himself into position, his eyes trained on the brush. She barely has any time to react.

Templars filter out of the brush. Their eyes bloodshot and red, their clothes and armor in disarray. Even their hair looked dirty and unkempt. They had destroyed the templar encampment the week prior and it would have been wishful thinking to think they had rooted them out of the area completely, but this seemed to be their luck after all. The templars encircled them. Roselyn counts a total of eight templars in total, outnumbering them two-to-one. She feels the ebb and the flow of the fade and allows it to pass through her, pass through her fingertips.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

“Get the mages!” A taller man with dusty blonde hair snarls.

The fighting begins. Cassandra charges at three of the templars, knocking one of them over completely. Roselyn glances back at Solas and she conjures a spell to freeze the templar charging him from behind with ease. Over the chaos of the ensuing battle, Roselyn can hear the distinct sound of Varric’s crossbow, _Bianca_ , and she catches him out of the corner of her eye taking out another templar shooting an arrow between their eyebrows.

A knight circles in front of Roselyn, sneering, snarling, staring at her with intensity. With every step he takes she takes a step in the opposite direction, continuing the dance. He slowly raises his sword and shield, and Roselyn knows he intends to attack but doesn’t know how. Before she has any time to react, he charges at her.

_Shit._

She feels the nullification before his charge even comes in contact with her body. The breath is knocked out of her and suddenly she feels blind without ever losing her sight. She is only able to take a partial side-step but is not able to avoid them altogether. Their shield comes into contact with her right side and she cries out in pain. She glances to her side and finds Cassandra and Varric preoccupied, unable to assist.

Roselyn only has a moment to center herself before the templar spins around.

She tries to conjure lightning to strike the man, but she is only able to conjure weak bolts, causing him to seize and drop his shield. Roselyn fumbles backwards, continuing to attack the man who was at least two full heads taller than her.

“You bitch.” He snarls and lunges forward.

Roselyn steps to the side again but this time he’s ready for her. With one gloved hand he catches her by her hair. She cries out in pain and he throws her to the ground.

The templar knight holds his sword above his head and plunges the blade downward.

Roselyn manages to roll away, his blade plunging deep into the earth. Her eyes meet his blood-shot eyes, and she manages to kick him the arm. He snarls in pain and lunges for her with his bare hands reaching out for her throat. His gnarled fingers close around her neck and she can feel her throat constricting. She tries to cry out, but instead a sick choked out breath comes out. A mixture of unbridled hatred and anger spill out of the man’s face as he continues to squeeze her throat harder. Roselyn reaches up with her fingers and begins to claw and scratch at anything she can come into contact with. The world feels so dark and so cold.

_A perfect metaphor for life really._

“To the Void with you!” He cries out.

_“Ros, you don’t understand… I love him, and he loves me.” Ophelia smiles warmly, her golden curls brushing against Roselyn’s face as they lay curled up on the small bed together._

Panic and dread creep through Roselyn as she feels the life draining out of her. Why this memory of all memories? Why not a happy one?

_“Ros, did you find him? Did you find him?! He promised me! Roselyn, he promised me he’d be here!” Ophelia cries out in pain and doubles over._

_Roselyn feels pain tearing through her own body and she fights to keep the air inside her lungs. She is shaking and she is trying to hold herself together because at this moment, she doesn’t matter. Maybe she never mattered._

_“I want him to be here when she comes, Ros!” Ophelia pleads before crying out again._

_Ophelia begins to scream out in pain._

_“The child is coming.” The Tranquil woman states._

_“Ros I can’t do it—” Ophelia croaks._

_Roselyn stands from her kneeling position beside the bed and crawls onto the bed and positions herself behind the other mage. She grips her hand with one hand and holds her shoulder with the other. She spreads her legs and allows the girl to lay back against her chest._

_“The child is coming. She needs to push, or we will lose them both.” The woman states._

_“Push,” Roselyn finally manages to whisper._

_“Ros… he promised…” Ophelia says weakly._

_“Push!” Roselyn cries out._

Roselyn’s eyes shoot open and all she can see is hatred. The same hatred that she mirrors within herself. The same hatred that she holds for the templar who might as well have killed Ophelia. The same hatred that she holds for the first templar who tried to kill her. Roselyn feels herself losing to the hatred and for a moment it feels calm. It feels wonderful. She feels finally at peace. It feels good to finally let go. It’s been so long, and she is so tired of being in control.

The hatred that had stained the templar’s face red above her quickly drained to fear as she felt the world around her get a little bit darker and a little bit colder. The grip around her throat loosens as he begins to panic.

Roselyn cries out.

In a moment the entire world goes white and the hatred that had burned inside her chest was replaced by exhilaration.

_She is so tired of being in control._

* * *

“Solas what did she _do?”_ Roselyn hears Cassandra say.

“I believe she struck both herself, and the templar that had been strangling her, with lightning.” Solas says simply.

“But it was a little more than that, wasn’t it? I’m no expert on weird magical shit, but this all wasn’t normal, was it?” Varric asks.

“No, that was not normal. Perhaps it’s a side-effect of the mark? Enhancing her magical abilities?” Solas wonders quietly.

“I believe she’s starting to come to.” Cassandra says, Roselyn can feel her hand touch her cheek.

Roselyn opens her eyes and strains her eyes against the sunlight.

“Atta girl Sparky.” Varric smirks down at her.

“I’m not a damn dog.” Roselyn rasps, her throat raw.

Varric laughs in relief.

Cassandra helps Roselyn sit up and begins to examine the already forming bruises around her neck.

“It’s amazing you’re not dead.” She states blankly.

“Your bedside manner is exceptional. If this whole Inquisition thing doesn’t work out, you should be a healer.” Roselyn groans, trying to stand on her own.

Varric chuckles.

Roselyn steadies herself and dusts off the earth from her clothing. She glances down at Cassandra who remains kneeling, a look of bewilderment spread across her face.

“Do you know what happened?” Cassandra asks, standing from her kneeling position.

“Well, it sounds like I killed that templar. Yes?” Roselyn gingerly touches her aching throat and winces.

“You did far more than that.” Cassandra stared at her.

“Oh?” Roselyn glances between Varric and Solas, who were also staring at her.

“Oh.” Roselyn looks down at her own hands and the ground around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spicy times in the Hinterlands!
> 
> So much dialogue! Something about writing Solas' dialogue is just so *chef's kiss*... also... you see what I did there?
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, I know it was kind of slow to start so I appreciate everyone who has stuck with it! We're going to be getting a little more ~backstory~ stuff soon.


	10. Temper

_Cullen hears the sound of someone singing softly in the distance. Their voice breathy and sweet, like a soft hand gently stroking a lover’s cheek. He continues down the hall with sword in hand, the cool metal imprinting against his sweaty palm. The sound is beautiful, and as he gets closer the sound changes. It echoes against the stones in the tower and makes it hard for him to discern where the voice is coming from. It becomes more and more haunting, like colors shifting against the hours in the sun. Something about this is familiar, but something about this is different. New. Like cool water washing over his face when he is expecting warm water. Strange, but he can’t quite put his finger on it, like he is missing something, or someone._

_“Hello?”_

_He continues forward, feeling like he is running out of time. The song washes over him again and again, crashing over him in waves and he is left wanting, waiting. Wishing he could get closer. Willing his dread forward out of the sweat on his brow. Grasping, grabbing, groping his way past the stones, the song gets louder and he is able to eventually make out the words._

_From the fields the seeds she sowed,_

_Sowed her seeds, the flowers grow_

_On and on the maiden fair_

_Eyes of blue and golden hair_

_From the fields, the flowers sowed_

_By the creek the waters flow_

_Laughter and the maiden fair_

_Find us now, let go your care_

_Words made to be forgotten yet somehow remembered. Something about the song was so familiar and yet it left a hollow pit in his stomach. Made him feel like falling. A door made of maple wood stood before him and he reaches for the brass handle. The door creaks open to a small room. He sees a familiar figure standing alone by the window, in only a simple white dress and long dark hair that reaches past her waist. She turns and looks at him with her full lips slightly parted in a crooked smile._

_His gaze is met by a pair of piercing gray eyes._

_He drops the sword, and it echoes against the stone. He scrambles backwards, tripping over his own feet while doing so. He can feel his hands tremble and he stares wide eyed at the woman with gray eyes. No no no no no! This is not how it happens. This can’t—_

_“Cullen, what’s wrong?” She says with concern. The voice is wrong. The song is wrong. Everything is wrong and his breath catches in his throat._

_“You— you’re not—” he can’t even finish his sentence._

_“Cullen?” Her eyes begin to leak red, staining her white dress. The tears start slow, like they always do, but soon more and more fall and streak down her face, staining her pale, porcelain face._

_He scrambles backwards and comes in contact with the door, he tries to push the oak door open, but it’s locked. There is no way out. There is no escape. He is lost, but he is lost with her. The woman with dark brown hair and silver eyes takes a step forward, only now does he see the twisted and mangled bodies of his templar brothers. All of them wearing the same horrified look on their faces and their eyes staring back at him._

_“You’re not real!” He begins to cry._

_She steps over the dead, horrified bodies. Her hands moving towards his face and cupping his cheeks. Like the soft hands touching the cheeks of a lover._

_“You can’t save her.” Blood begins to run out of her nose and mouth like a river, her dress becoming drenched. Her voice is wrong. This is not how he remembered it._

_“You can try. But you will fail. Just like you failed them.” She whispers. She almost sounds sad, as if she is trying to console him. This is not how he remembers it. This is not how it’s supposed to be._

_You can try. But you will fail. Just like you failed them._

Cullen wakes up and every inch of his body is trembling and covered in sweat. He sits up quickly and cradles his head in his hands wishing these dreams would leave him. Wishing he didn’t have to relive the same nightmares day in and day out. Now, every time he closes his eyes, he sees her face, the wrong face. Her deep brown eyes were replaced by cool gray ones that pierce his chest and strip away everything. Her small thin lips were replaced with full pink ones. Her voice was not even her own. Instead of the melodic song that had haunted his dreams for ten years, now he was haunted by the soft breathy sounds of her voice.

He feels sick.

He tries not to think about her cool hands against his cheek. He tries not to think about the way that she says his name that makes his chest constrict. He tries not to think about the blood staining her face. He tries not to think about the blood staining her dress. He tries not to think about the lifelessness behind her skin. He tries not to think of why she is the one he now dreams of at night.

He stands from his cot and grabs for his breaches in the dark. After taking a few moments to stand and slow his breathing he hears a rustling outside his tent and voices suddenly become louder. A hand pushes the flaps of his tent open and a soldier’s head pops in.

“Commander!” He greets him.

“What is it?” He growls. The sun hasn’t even risen yet.

“The Herald and Seeker Pentaghast! They’re all back!” The soldier cries out.

“Alert Nightingale and the Ambassador.” Cullen begins searching for the rest of his clothes.

The soldier stands there.

“ _Now!_ ” Cullen growls.

The soldier panics and exits.

They had received reports that they would be returning soon. Everything had gone well, except for an incident on their way back. The details on said incident were… lacking at best. Ominous at worst.

Cullen exits his tent once he is appropriately dressed, leaving his armor and instead choosing a warm coat and cloak. Once he exits his tent, he feels the wind bite his cheeks and he draws his cloak closer to his body. He begins walking to the entrance to Haven as he hears the steady rumble of galloping horses.

“How do you stop this thing?!” He hears a familiar dwarf’s voice say, mixed with both panic and laughter.

“You don’t!” He hears yet another familiar voice cry out in laughter.

Together Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and Roselyn ride in on galloping Ferelden Forders. Cassandra and Roselyn taking the lead, with Varric following close behind, and Solas’ own horse several paces back, already slowed to a graceful trot. Cassandra slows her chestnut-colored horse and quickly dismounts and quickly closes the distance to where Cullen is standing. Her expression is serious, and her mouth set in a thin line.

Varric’s own birch colored horse, much smaller than the rest, sped past. Roselyn follows after him on her gray speckled own horse, laughing hysterically.

The sight is definitely a strange one. Cullen doesn’t think he’s ever seen Roselyn smile, let alone laugh.

Solas dismounts his ash-colored horse near Cassandra and gracefully dismounts. He gives the horse a few pats and smooths its dark mane before taking the reins of his and Cassandra’s horses and begins leading them to the stables, gently talking to them during the process.

Cullen turns to Cassandra and raises his eyebrows. She was in her riding clothes and seemed weary from travel. They had not expected the group until later that day, so Cullen assumed that they had rode through the night.

“It appears you were successful in the Hinterlands.” He smirks and gestures to Varric, who was now falling off of his horse. Roselyn hopes off her horse and tries to help him but keeps doubling over in laughter.

Cassandra rolls her eyes in response.

“Those two are delirious, I swear.” She mutters grumpily. “Come, we have much to discuss before the Herald joins us.” She turns and leads the way to the Chantry.

* * *

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen whispers as he glances at Leliana and Josephine.

Leliana manages to keep a steady face, but Josephine looks horrified.

“It was reckless.” Cassandra frowns.

“Perhaps the Herald was desperate and felt she had no other choice…” Josephine wonders out loud.

“That’s not what worries me.” Cullen mutters.

“How many mages could have done what she did?” Leliana asks Cullen and Cassandra.

“It’s hard to say. Lightning magic is unpredictable and is easily the hardest of the elemental magics to master, and control for that matter. With that said, I have never seen anything like what you have described.” Cullen rubs the back of his neck.

“And that’s what worries me.” Cassandra looks to Cullen.

“You think the mark—?” Cullen looks Cassandra in the eye.

“That’s exactly what I think.” Cassandra purses her lips.

“And what is it exactly that you seem to think?” Roselyn quietly stands behind all of them in the doorway.

Everyone’s heads whip to look at her, no one had even heard her enter the room.

“I was describing the events of—” Cassandra begins.

“I see.” Roselyn frowns.

Roselyn, like Cassandra, was still in her riding clothes. Her hair braided half-hazardously and her eyes flashing dangerously, despite her calm demeanor.

“Herald—” Josephine begins.

“Don’t call me that.” Roselyn mumbles lowly.

There was an awkward silence. If someone were to drop a pin in the room, everyone would have been able to hear it. No one dared breath. No one dared move. Cassandra shifted uncomfortably and Josephine looked down, not wanting to look Roselyn in the eye. Only Leliana and Cullen held their gaze. 

“Did you even know what you were doing?” Cullen frowns. 

Roselyn’s head spins to his direction, their eyes meeting.

  
“I wasn’t exactly thinking in that exact moment. I don’t know if Cassandra had gotten to that part, but I was a bit pre-occupied.” Roselyn’s voice was calm, but Cullen could see the storm brewing behind her eyes.

“Well that much is clear.” Cullen scoffs.

“So, you didn’t tell them Cassandra? A convenient necessary detail left out of your little report?” Roselyn glances at Cassandra, her expression remaining unchanging.

“No— I hadn’t—” Cassandra begins.

Roselyn rips the emerald scarf off of her own neck, exposing ugly purple and yellow bruising. You could see the outlines of the individual fingers that had wrapped themselves around her slender pale throat. Josephine let out an audible gasp and there was another moment of silence.

“I understand that these were dire circumstances, but you could have killed yourself! You could have killed everyone!” Cullen’s heartrate quickens as his eyes scan over her bruises. The purple and red marks running down her neck, causing a sick feeling in Cullen’s stomach.

If she had died, what would they do? She was their only hope at closing The Breach.

“Who electrocutes themselves on purpose Commander? Please, if you could enlighten me.” Roselyn maintains her unchanging expression and her voice remaining calm.

It would be better if she would just yell. 

“You not only threatened your life, but everyone’s lives around you. You threatened all of Thedas. We are counting on you! And you almost threw it all away!” Cullen starts yelling.

“I don’t need you reminding me of the burden that rests on my shoulders.” Her voice is hollow but the storm behind her eyes swell.

Silence.

_Templars, dead with eyes made of glass stare at Cullen, horrified expressions painted across their faces, hands reaching, grasping. Day in and day out, he is the only one who survives._

“The fact of the matter is, we have no idea what affect the mark has on your magic, it could be enhancing your abilities, but it also could be making them unpredictable and uncontrollable as well.” Cullen whispers, trying to shake the images from his head.

Roselyn stares at him.

“I killed almost every single one of those templars. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas remain completely unscathed. I am perfectly in control of myself and my magic.” Roselyn says coolly.

“And if you don’t believe me, perhaps you would like a little demonstration?” She turns around and walks back to the door.

“Are you threatening me?” He hisses.

“Believe me. If I were threatening you, you wouldn’t have to ask.” She glances back at him, her eyes piercing, before exiting the room.

Cullen’s heart races in his chest as he stares after her. He watches her platinum blonde braid swings back and forth as she walks calmly through the Chantry.

Josephine is wide eyed and speechless. Cassandra is frowning deeply. Leliana is staring at the door where Roselyn just exited.

“Well, that could have gone… better.” Josephine frowns.

“It could have also gone worse.” Cassandra folds her arms over her chest.

Cullen frowns.

He turns around and exits the room, his footsteps echoing behind him. Cullen knew few mages who had mastered storm abilities. Storm magic was temperamental, difficult to control, and even more difficult to master. He knew even fewer mages who could have called forth such a storm that could have immediately killed every single templar in the area. Paralyzing them would have been more likely. Cullen did not know any mages who could have done so while they were being choked to death. Cullen also did not know any mages who would have been able to not kill everyone else in the surrounding area, including themselves. How she was able to manage this, he could not say. Perhaps this was the mark? Perhaps she was not telling them the whole truth. Either way, he would not let this be his latest mistake.

It was worrisome. She was their only hope in being able to close The Breach and in one single moment she could have erased that hope.

Cullen steps out of the Chantry and blinks in the sunlight. The light is blinding, and he squints, looking back and forth trying to find which direction she went. He sees Roselyn at a distance, walking toward her cabin. Her blonde hair, not brown, swaying with her as she walks. He continues down the path, following after her.

_“You can’t save her. You can try. But you will fail. Just like you failed them.”_

Cullen tries shaking his head of these thoughts that repeat themselves over and over in his head, the voice growing louder. Once he reaches her cabin, he presses his knuckles against the cold stained wood and knocks quietly.

Nothing.

Cullen knocks louder, this time using the side of his fist. The cold bites against his cheeks and he draws his cloak a little tighter, anything to keep the cold out.

“I know you’re in there.” He says gently.

She opens the door several inches.

Her gray eyes stare up at him and her mouth is fixed in a solid line. Her cheeks, rosy, from the cold. A few strands of hair have fallen into her face. A small part of him wants to brush the hair back but he buries that part of him deeper into his chest, ignoring the feeling completely. The feeling was dangerous and would be the death of him if he acknowledged it.

“Are you just going to stare at me, or do you need something?” She mutters.

Cullen feels his own cheeks grow warm.

“I’m sorry, I should not have lost my temper.” He manages, his hand rubs the back of his neck.

“Unless you actually did want a demonstration you shouldn’t have come here.” She begins to shut the door on him.

He holds his hand out to prevent the door from shutting.

Her eyes go wide and for a moment, Cullen swears panic flashes like lightning across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. Only whispers of the emotion remain on the corners on her face, but only if you look hard enough, and only if you know what you’re looking for. Cullen knows panic. He knows fear. Oh, he knows them too well.

“You’re right.” He frowns.

_Why did he come here?_

“So, leave.” She whispers, she looks down at her worn in brown leather riding boots. 

“For what it’s worth, I am glad you’re okay.” He whispers lowly.

Something washes over her face in a wave, and once again it is gone almost as soon as it appears. Cullen can’t quite place the emotion but her face imprints itself in his mind and her image will replay in his head, this he knows. Was it panic, fear, or something else? It was a look that was so familiar. One that he had seen so many times before.

She gently pushes the door and Cullen doesn’t resist this time, letting it close entirely. He hears the metallic sound of the lock click.

Pain. He realizes.

She looked like she was in pain.

Not a physical pain. But the kind of pain that you feel in your chest and the kind of pain that dully aches in the back of your skull. The kind of pain that dulls your mind for years and makes you want to scream and fight and give in all at once. A feeling that Cullen had grown much too accustom to.


	11. Grandstanding

After the latest exchange in the war room, Roselyn avoided the Chantry at all costs. She did her best to avoid the others as well, interacting with those only when forced. She stayed busy, helping Adan collect various herbs for his potions and poultices, and even helping him with the more elementary formulas. Roselyn was never really an alchemist, but she knew the basics. She knew a lot more about pressing and drying the herbs, as well as extracting the actual oils from them, which made her useful all the same.

Oftentimes when someone wanted to speak with her, they chose to do it when she was working with Adan, knowing she would be less likely to find an excuse to escape the conversation. More often than not it was Josephine, who reached out. A few times it was Cassandra and Leliana, but rarely ever was it ever anything unrelated to the Inquisition.

Oftentimes when she spoke with Leliana, she almost felt like it was a test. That Leliana may have been asking her one question, but rarely ever did she feel like Leliana was just asking her that one question. She often wondered if Leliana had a file on her, and how large that file was, considering her tower burned down, and along with it most of the people she had known for a large portion of her lifetime. Surely Leliana would not have reached out to her family for information on her, but if she did, she probably knew that it wouldn’t be entirely accurate.

Roselyn was working with Adan, pressing and drying herbs, when she heard the faint knocking on his door. 

“Come in but shut the door behind you! It’s fucking freezing…” Adan calls out.

Cullen walks in, his cloak drawn closely around him and a halo of snow resting atop his blonde locks.

“Ah Commander! Came to say hello? Or are you here to help?” Adan calls out over his shoulder; he currently was working on a particularly tricky formula.

“Hello Adan. I’m here for the Herald.” Cullen brushes the snow out of his hair gently.

“Everyone is always here for the Herald. You all must like her a lot more than me.” Adan replies flatly.

Roselyn snorts, not even reacting to the retched title. Adan’s sense of humor was strange, but Roselyn had grown to enjoy it during her short time spent with the man.

“Uh… Sorry about that.” Cullen’s stammered awkwardly, bringing his hand up to the back of his neck.

Roselyn sets the herbs down on the surface she was working on and turns around and rests her hands on her hips while looking at Cullen. His cheeks were rosy from the cold and he held his golden hazel eyes on her for a moment before clearing his throat.

“There’s news.” He says.

“Oh?” Roselyn cocks an eyebrow.

“From Val Royeaux.” He glances down.

“Oh.” Roselyn breathes.

This is what they were waiting for. A chance to meet with some of the Chantry Mothers that had been speaking out against her and the Inquisition. Leliana had sent a raven upon their return from the Hinterlands, asking for an audience with the remaining Chantry leaders.

“We’re meeting in the War Room.” He glances back up at her.

“I guess we better get going then.” She mumbles. “See you later Adan!” She calls out while grabbing her cloak and exiting the small cabin.

“Close the damn door, it’s freezing!” Adan shouts after her.

Roselyn chuckles.

“Maker’s Breath is he always like that.” Cullen glances over his shoulder and back at Adan’s cabin as they walk together to the Chantry.

“At least he doesn’t think I’m going to set the entire place on fire.” Roselyn draws her cloak around her tighter, refusing to look at him.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see him glance over at her, but he says nothing. Together they continue their walk in almost silence, only the sound of crunching snow passing between the two. They had not spoken much since their previous interactions and Roselyn preferred to keep it that way. Nothing good ever came from trusting templars, she had decided long ago, and she had intended to remember this. She needed to.

As they reach the Chantry, Cullen brushes past her to push the heavy wooden doors open, leaving the scent of earthy scent of moss and pine in his wake. It startles her for a moment as the unexpected scent overtakes her for a moment. It reminds her of something, and she can vaguely feel the memory tugging at the back of her mind, but she can’t quite place it.

Cullen stands in front of the door, allowing her to pass first. Their eyes meeting for a moment and as Roselyn brushes past him once more, his scent washes over her once again following her in waves as she continues down the corridors of the Chantry. She glances back at him and finds him following past her, just a couple paces behind. She noticed his golden eyes trained carefully on her with an intensity that could fuel a thousand suns. Roselyn stares forward, aware of his gaze burning through her.

They enter the war room and are the last to enter, with Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra awaiting their arrival.

“Lady Trevelyan, thank you for joining us.” Josephine smiles warmly at her and nods in her directly.

“Of course, Lady Montilyet.” Roselyn returns her smile.

“I assume Commander Cullen mentioned to you that we have heard from Val Royeaux.” Cassandra turns to talk to her.

Roselyn and Cassandra have not spoken much since the last awkward interaction in the Chantry several days ago, just a few times in passing and each time more awkward than the last.

“Yes, he did mention it.” Roselyn looks her in the eye.

“Having Lady Trevelyan address the clerics herself is not a terrible idea.” Josephine glances between the others with a thoughtful look on her face.

“You cannot be serious.” Cullen frowns.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong: at the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.” Josephine smiles gently.

“And we should ignore the danger to Lady Trevelyan?” Leliana’s eyes flicker to Roselyn.

“She’s standing right here, let’s ask her.” Josephine’s eyes twinkle as she nods to Roselyn.

“You want me to walk into a pit of vipers, and you ask me that?” Roselyn raises an eyebrow.

“They are not vipers just because they like to hiss.” Josephine replies.

Roselyn shakes her head and touches the tips of her fingers to her forehead. She was all too familiar with Chantry politics, and it was not her favorite pastime. The Trevelyan family was fairly devout in their faith, and with that came their influence within the Chantry in Ostwick and other Marcher cities. Roselyn lost count but she assumed she had a dozen cousins in the Chantry, at least. The taste of dealing with the Chantry in this way left a bitter taste in her mouth that reminded of her of a life she had thought she left behind across the Waking Sea.

“I will go with Trevelyan. Mother Giselle said she could provide us with names? Use them.” Cassandra says.

“But why? This is nothing but a—” Leliana begins to argue.

“What choice do we have, Leliana? Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with The Breach. Use what influence we do have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.” Cassandra frowns.

* * *

The cool air of Val Royeaux sticks to Roselyn’s skin as they enter Val Royeaux. Storm clouds above signing as an omen, thick with humidity and rain. The city of gildings, marble, and brightly painted blue and white stucco buildings, a stark contrast of the rustic village Roselyn has forced herself to call home for the past week. But still, Roselyn found herself missing the scent of dried herbs and the warm scent of burning wood the villagers burned on their stoves to keep their houses warm. The scent of the pine branches that hung above every doorway, ‘a superstition from an older time’ a villager told her once but refused to tell her more. Now she imagined what it would be like to walk into the apartments of Val Royeaux, and she decided it would smell like the newest perfumes. Similar to the powdery perfumes her mother loved wearing when she was a child.

“The city still mourns.” Cassandra says as they walk through the gilded gates of Val Royeaux.

They pass by a young couple, dressed in expensive matching silks. The couple’s eyes widen as they see the party, and together they sprint away.

“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are.” Varric mutters.

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me Varric.” Cassandra rolls her eyes.

They continue onward through the city; more and more eyes follow them as they move past the crowds of people. A small girl with rich brown curls smiles upon seeing the group and she breaks free of her mother’s grip and sprints up to the group, a grin widening on her freckled face.

“Are you The Herald of Andraste?! Did The Maker send you?” She says excitedly, bouncing up and down.

Roselyn blinks.

The child looks up expectantly.

Roselyn slowly leans down to whisper in the child’s ear.

“Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me.”

The child’s bright green eyes light up and she leans forward and whispers in Roselyn’s ear.

“In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains.”

Varric and Cassandra stand slack jawed as the little girl’s mother runs up and drags her child away, the child unable to tear her eyes off of Roselyn. Roselyn offers a small wave before she turns to her slack jawed companions.

“What?”

“I… I didn’t think you were a woman of faith.” Cassandra stares, shocked.

“I didn’t say I was.” Roselyn shrugs.

“But— you just—” Cassandra stutters.

“Anyone can memorize words from a young age Cassandra.” Roselyn stands back up and dusts off her clothes.

“Oh… I guess I just thought...” Cassandra frowns.

“How heartless do you think I am?” Roselyn tries to laugh it off.

“You just… are very adamant in Haven.” Cassandra walks beside her.

“I am very adamant in not wanting to create a movement around the assumption that I am ‘touched by Andraste’ to make our political lives easier. However, if I can give a small child just the tiniest bit of hope when this world is going to shit, forgive me if I lie just the once.” Roselyn shrugs.

“Let them believe the beautiful lie while standing waist deep in the shitty truth. Didn’t realize you were a romantic Sparky.” Varric chuckles.

“She will grow up and realize the ugly truth soon enough.” Roselyn frowns.

The group continues and through the crowds of people they spot three chantry clergy members standing on a small wooden platform. A small crowd had collected around them and Roselyn begins to feel a feeling of unease as they continue toward the wooden platform.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together we mourn Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no mage in our hour of need!” One of the clergy members shouts to the crowd that had formed around the platform.

“Shit.” Varric whispers under his breath.

“Enough! I will not listen to these self-serving lies! We came here to talk!” Roselyn shouts over the crowd, which, now stared.

“It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!” Cassandra affirms.

“It is already too late.” The Chantry mother hisses.

Out of the corner of Roselyn’s eye she sees movement and her stomach drops as she turns to face a dozen templars approaching. Roselyn raises her hands, prepared to reach for her staff. She feels Cassandra stiffen next to her, but Roselyn does not dare tear her own eyes off of the templars.

“The templar have returned to The Chantry! They will face this “Inquisition,” and the people will be safe once more!” The Chantry mother’s lips curl into a faint smile, hope glimmering in her eyes.

A templar approaches the stage and walks up to the Chantry mother. She glances up at the young man, a confused look spreading across her face. Before she is able to say anything else, the templar rears back and punches her on the side of her skull, giving a sickening crack. The chantry mother collapses, and the other chantry clergy members scramble around her unconscious body.

One particular templar with kind green eyes and warm chestnut skin gasps and stammers at the sight before him. Another templar walks up to the templar with kind eyes and places an overbearing hand on his shoulder.

“Still yourself. She is beneath us.” The overbearing templar commands.

“What is the meaning of this?” Roselyn maintains her flat affect and narrows her eyes at the sight before her.

“Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own.” The commanding templar snarls at her.

“Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak with—” Cassandra addresses the commanding templar.

“You will not address me.” The Lord Seeker turns away without ever looking at Cassandra. The other templars begin to gather and march forward.

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra looks bewildered.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.” Lord Seeker Lucius snarls.

“If you’re not here to help the Chantry, then you came here to make speeches? Someone likes the sound of their own voice.” Roselyn folds her arms over her chest.

“I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh.” Lord Seeker Lucius’ lips quirk upwards for a moment in a sick smile, but it is gone as quickly as it appears.

“But Lord Seeker… What if she really was sent by the Maker? What if—?” The templar with kind eyes looks down, guilt flooding his face.

“You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!” The templar that had punched the Chantry mother commands.

“ _I_ will make the templar order a power that stands alone against the void. _We_ deserve recognition. Independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition… less than nothing.” The Lord Seeker’s eyes fall upon Roselyn.

“Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” He commands, turning away and leading the templars through the streets of Val Royeaux.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he.” Varric mutters darkly.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra wonders out loud.

“How well do you know him?” Roselyn turns to Cassandra.

“He took over the Seekers of Truth a year ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to grandstanding. This is very bizarre.” Cassandra frowns.

“Fortunately, the templars aren’t our only hope. There’s still the mages.” Roselyn folds her arms over her chest again.

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly. There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become. Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others once we’ve concluded our business here.” Cassandra glances between Varric and Roselyn.


	12. Parties in Val Royeaux

They wander the busy streets of Val Royeaux, drawing their hoods of their cloaks as much as they can to avoid any further attention. An angry mob was the last thing Roselyn wanted to deal with right now… but Roselyn and her travelling companions were hardly subtle, they were dressed in the faded cloaks of their travels, dull grays, greens, and browns and while their travelling clothes helped them blend in with the nature of their travels, this was hardly the case when they walked the streets of Val Royeaux. The colors and patterns of the Orlesian dresses caught Roselyn’s eye, in another life perhaps she would have envied these ladies, wanting to own her own to wear to an Orleasian party. But now, she thought of only how nice it would be if they could spend a night in a bed. A real bed. With feathers, and fresh sheets, and pillowcases made of silk! She hadn’t had a night of sleep like this since the nights before she left for the circle.

“Where are we going?” Roselyn finally asks.

“It’s a surprise, Sparky.” Varric turns and winks.

“Ungh.” Cassandra groans.

As the sun begins to set across the skies of Orlais, leaving faint shades of purple and pink where gray storm clouds were once before, Roselyn couldn’t help but admire the way the setting sun glimmered against the gildings of the city. The sun’s rays dancing off of painted stone and marble and it felt like she was walking through a hazy beautiful dream. She had to admit, it was nothing like she had ever seen before.

Varric lead them down a cobbled street before stopping in front of a quiet looking inn. Compared to the rest of Val Royeaux, the establishment was an understatement, nestled between buildings that had overflowing lush rose gardens and extravagant balconies that glistened in the setting sun. The walls had been painted at some point, probably during the early Blessed Age, and the once pigmented stone was now a faded blueish gray. Twisted vines of ivy crawled across the front of the building, twisting and turning every which way, almost out of control. It was the faded, forgotten, and flawed, falling in between the cracks of finery.

Roselyn loved it.

“I know it’s not much to look at, but it’s great when you need something a little more… low key.” Varric smiled and led the way past columns with chipped paint and past heavy white doors.

He left Cassandra and Roselyn so that he could talk to the young woman running the inn.

Roselyn glanced over at Cassandra who seemed out of place in Val Royeaux. Cassandra was sun kissed olive skin and black hair that was cropped, because if it were any longer it might get in the way of her armor. She was a woman of sharp lines and practicality. Every emotion she felt was plainly displayed and Roselyn never felt like she had to really guess what Cassandra was feeling at any particular moment. Roselyn knew that Cassandra was going to let her, and everyone know one way or another how she felt.

And this is what Roselyn appreciated about Cassandra.

Val Royeaux was different. Behind beautiful silk patterned dresses, delicate pink rouge, marble columns, and lush gardens Roselyn could feel it hanging in the air. The secrets. The pageantry. The Orleasian masks. The painted smiles.

It reminded her of nobility. It reminded her of what she once called home.

Varric approached them, snapping Roselyn out of her thoughts. He smiles widely and holds up a key. Cassandra raises an eyebrow.

“Seeker, what’s that look for?” Varric smirks and begins to walk up the flight of stairs with faded blue carpet.

“I don’t think Cassandra can bear another night of my snoring.” Roselyn chuckles.

“You do snore very loudly.” Cassandra actually manages a laugh.

Varric leads them to the room at the end of the hall with double painted white doors. He unlocks them with the single brass key and lets Cassandra and Roselyn pass. Inside the room is peeling gray striped wallpaper, but otherwise in good repair. A small white wooden table is in the center of the room with freshly picked yellow flowers and four white matching wooden chairs surrounding the table. On each side of the room lead to double doors. Cassandra goes to open one set and finds a pair of single beds laid with fresh green blankets and soft pillows. Roselyn goes to open the other set and finds a room with a queen-sized bed laid with fresh white sheets and the largest fluffiest pillows that look like little clouds. They return to the common area.

“The inn-keeper said she would bring up dinner within the hour.” Varric sighs as he takes a seat on a faded pink floral fainting couch, he kicks off his boots.

A faint knocking is heard on the door to their room. The companions glance at each other before Cassandra goes to answer the knock.

“Delivery!” A soft voice with an Orlesian accent sings out.

Cassandra opens the door, her hand on the handle of her blade. The woman with the delivery cries out, dropping the very large box she is carrying.

“I-I just am supposed to deliver this to the resident of this room!” The woman shakes.

“I will not hurt you, what is this?” Cassandra frowns.

“I don’t know, I am just a runner.” The woman slowly backs away from Cassandra before running away.

Cassandra picks up the large box and sets it on the fainting couch next to Varric, there is a crisp cream-colored envelope with beautifully controlled handwriting on the front.

_To The Herald of Andraste_

“So much for remaining anonymous.” Cassandra mutters, handing the envelop to Roselyn.

Roselyn opens the note.

_To The Herald of Andraste,_

_You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the Chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. I have arranged a carriage to arrive at your lodgings to pick you up. Please do wear the dress my dear._

_Yours,_

_Vivienne de Fer_

_First Enchanter of Montsimmard_

_Enchanter to the Imperial Court_

Roselyn blinks and reaches to open the large box.

She begins to laugh in disbelief.

“What is—” Cassandra stares at the dress and reaches for the note from Vivienne de Fer. She reads it over a couple times before glancing up. Astonished.

Roselyn holds up the dress, staring at the delicate silk.

It was beautiful. Waves of the smoothest, whitest silk fell to the ground as Roselyn held it up. The skirt was fairly plain, smooth and flowing lines leading your eyes to the bodice, which was corseted and plunged at the breasts, creating a diamond shape and scooping back up to the neck, though not fully enclosing and creating a slim high neck collar. Delicate silver beadwork inlaid on the shoulders and created patterns of twisting iris, chamomile, and ivy.

“Orlesians.” Varric chuckles and shakes his head before leaning back and rubbing his face tiredly.

“It definitely… is impractical.” Cassandra frowns.

“Do we know anything about this Vivienne de Fer?” Roselyn bites her lip, tearing her eyes away from the dress.

“Very little, I’m afraid. I only knew that she was the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard. I have never met her in person.” Cassandra frowns.

“Then I guess we’re going to have to find out more ourselves.” Roselyn looks the gown up and down and folds it over her arm before turning to Cassandra and Varric and smiling.

* * *

“Herald, you look…” Cassandra blinks at Roselyn’s brilliant white dress, unable to finish her sentence.

“I think she means, ‘you look nice’.” Varric snorts before dramatically bowing.

“Master Tethras. Lady Cassandra. How do you do this fine evening?” Roselyn laughs and curtsies in her familiar Marcher style.

“Atta girl! Keep that up and the Orlesian nobility will be eating out of your hands.” Varric winks.

“Keep your guard up. Who knows what vipers lie in this nest of this Vivienne de Fer.” Cassandra rolls her eyes before folding her arms over her chest.

“This is hardly my first run in with nobility Cassandra, I understand what’s at stake.” Roselyn smirks.

“Josephine is going to kill me when she finds out we sent you to an Orlesian party without her here to guide you.” Cassandra’s hand flies up to her forehead.

“I think Nightingale can restrain the lady ambassador Seeker. Besides, I think she’s going to do great! If anything, she can just make her hand do that thing and any social blunders she makes will be easily forgotten.” Varric wiggles his fingers and offers a sly smile.

“This isn’t funny Varric!” Cassandra groans.

“Is this going to be a problem if I leave you two alone for a few hours? If I come back is the Inquisition going to be down a dwarf?” Roselyn laughs while clumsily trying to slip on the matching slippers to her dress.

“You forget that it was I who dragged him across the Waking Sea, he lived then.” Cassandra scoffs.

“Yeah, but I had Curly as a buffer! He was too busy getting sick for you to pay any attention to me.” Varric gave Cassandra a knowing look.

“Cullen got seasick?” Roselyn quirks her head.

Cassandra looks away, avoiding the question and pours herself a glass of wine. Roselyn glances over at Varric who merely shrugs before walking over to the window and leans against the wall beside it.

“My lady your carriage awaits.” Varric says, looking out the window and at the street below.

* * *

“Lady Trevelyan!” The man beside Roselyn announces to the party.

Immediately she feels a hundred eyes on her, peaking through their masks but they do not stop their conversations and turn to look at her. The party continues but her skin crawls. She clasps her hands behind her back and walks as gracefully as she can manage forward through the party, silently brushing past nobles dressed in various white and cream-colored silks, each of their ensembles encrusted with gold or silver, causing a twinkling affect in the candlelight.

A man moves toward Roselyn, holding a silver tray with crystal glasses of champagne, he bows his head before offering her a glass. Roselyn gladly accepts, grateful to have something to do with her gloved hands.

“We so _rarely_ have the chance to meet anyone new. It is always the same crowd at these parties. You must be a guest of Madam de Fer, or are you here for Duke Bastien?” A baritone voice says next to her.

Roselyn turns to look at the man, who is dressed in tightly fitted cream-colored silks, his vest pattered in a fashionable floral pattern and buttoned with glittering golden buttons. His light brown eyes peer at Roselyn behind his white-gold ornate mask.

“Are you here on business? I have heard the most curious tales about you, I cannot imagine half of them are true!” The woman on his arm chides in, wearing a dress in matching silks to her partner. She wears a soft smile that is painted pink.

“Some of those storytellers may have gotten a little carried away.” Roselyn laughs and smiles before bringing the crystal flute to her lips.

  
“But only for the best effect. The Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales.” The woman’s eyes sparkle behind her mask and the corners of her mouth grow into a wider smile, showing of her perfect white teeth.

The gentleman next to her opens his mouth to say something before he is interrupted by a hoarse and gruff sounding voice. A man strolls down the marble staircase, letting his gloved hand drag lazily on the banister, his other hand preoccupied with his drink.

“ _The Inquisition._ What a load of pig shit. Washed up Sisters and crazed Seekers. No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.” He smirks behind his silver mask.

“We are the only ones trying to restore order, _My Lord_ , and the first to draw our swords when faced with nothing but chaos and death. Hundreds of men and women died during our first attempt at sealing The Breach.” Roselyn gave a tight-lipped smile, her eyes narrowing at the drunk nobleman before her.

_Glass unstaring eyes gaze upward at The Breach, with twisted looks of horror and despair echoing across their ashen faces._

Roselyn sips her champagne and closes her eyes for a moment, trying to shake the images from her head.

“We know what your Inquisition truly is, if you were a woman of honor you’d step outside and answer the charges.” The nobleman reaches the bottom step and takes a few steps toward Roselyn, his face merely inches away from hers. Hate burned through his eyes and Roselyn could smell the sickly-sweet smell of alcohol on his breath. She does not falter or back away from his imposing figure. He reaches one hand toward his sheathed sword.

_Josephine is going to kill me if I kill a noble at this fucking party._

On the other hand, Roselyn couldn’t imagine either Cullen or Cassandra caring nearly as much.

“Oh, my dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house to my guests. You know such rudeness is _intolerable._ ” A smooth voice cuts through Roselyn’s thoughts.

“Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon—” The Marquis before her stumbles back from Roselyn.

As he stumbles back Roselyn feels the fade snap around the Marquis like someone had just cracked a whip, cool and controlled. In a matter of seconds his skin turns ashen and blue, frost encrusting his skin.

  
“You should. Whatever am I going to do with you _my dear_.” The smooth, confident voice echoes throughout the room and the music stops playing.

Roselyn glances up and sees a woman, tall with pois, gracefully walking down the marble staircase. She is dressed in a structured silver and white gown with a dramatic collar that fans out from her neckline, like a blooming flower, with the edges of the collar pointed and sharp. Her rich deep brown skin complimented against the contrasting bright cool tones of the white and silver gown. She was beautiful in the way that most poisonous flowers are beautiful.

“My Lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair, what would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?” The woman’s full lips draw into a smile that in the candlelight almost seems cruel.

“I think The Marquis has seen the error of his ways; wouldn’t you agree?” Roselyn smiles carefully at the poised woman.

“By the grace of Andraste you have your life my dear. Do be more careful with it.” She snaps her fingers, releasing the hold she had on the fade and turns to Roselyn once more and smiles, showing off her glittering white teeth. “I’m delighted you decided attend my party my dear, I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

The woman offers her arm to Roselyn, and Roselyn gratefully takes it and together they walk away from the staring eyes and down the darkened beautifully decorated hallway with only moonlight guiding their path. They stop in front of a grand window, and Roselyn could see the moon dancing above the Chateau, both of the woman drenched in the light of the moon.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.” Her deep brown eyes sparkle behind her silver mask.

“Charmed, Lady Vivienne.” Roselyn smiles carefully and curtsies.

“Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries. With Divine Justinia dead, The Chantry’s in shambles but the faithful flocked to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos. As the leader of the Last Loyal Mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.” She turns and rests her hands against the windowsill of the grand window, her face now bathed in moonlight.

“You say you led the last of the loyal mages. Loyal to whom?” Roselyn sips her champagne before setting the crystal glass on the windowsill.

“To the people of Thedas, of course.” Vivienne says. “We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

“So, you’re in favor of returning the mages to the Circle.” Roselyn says carefully, maintaining her façade.

“Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own.” Vivienne continues looking at Roselyn.

She knew that Vivienne was trying to discover just as much about her as she was about Vivienne. Though Roselyn disagreed with Vivienne on these sentiments, she could hardly afford to lose the potential of a powerful ally, if Vivienne was a competent and as well connected as she seemed. The two stood there staring at each other before Roselyn smiles again.

“The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.” Roselyn curtsies.

“Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that.” Vivienne returns the smile and curtsies with grace.

And with that, Vivienne turns and walks down the hallway, returning to entertain her guests.

Roselyn turns back to the windowsill and looks down at her empty crystal glass and frowns. She would have to be careful around Vivienne, she thinks. Roselyn hears the sound of footsteps down the hall and turns to find an Elven woman with cropped brown curls and wearing a white serving uniform walks down the hall, her large hazel eyes fixed on Roselyn.

“Hello.” Roselyn blinks in greeting.

“Are you the Herald of Andraste?” The woman says in a thick Orlesian accent.

“Some call me that, I guess.” Roselyn sighs.

The woman nods before reaching into her pocket and giving her a red handkerchief and a note. She turns around and disappears down the hall as soon as she had appeared.

_People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone._

_There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you._

_Keep an eye out for my people and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords._

_Friends of Red Jenny_

“Well, shit.” Roselyn mutters.

* * *

Roselyn was riding in the back of the carriage, her head resting in her cool hands. This was going to be a long night; she could feel it. She thought about the beds back at the inn with fresh sheets and fluffy pillows and hungrily wished she was there.

What did _keep an eye out for my people_ mean exactly? Elves? That did not seem right. She would have to talk with Varric and Cassandra, maybe they would have some idea or knew of these _Friends of Red Jenny_. Roselyn rubs her eyes tiredly. What would Leliana do in this situation? She sorely wished for her counsel at this moment.

The carriage suddenly comes to a halt and Roselyn grips the seat while lurching forward. She hears the carriage driver hop down and walk around the carriage. The door slowly opens, and she sees the familiar forgotten looking inn. The carriage driver appears before her, he was a young man, barely twenty. He was thin and freckled, with auburn hair. He was dressed plainly, with a red scarf tied around his neck.

_Keep an eye out for my people._

He extends a thin, freckled hand out to her and helps her out of the carriage. Roselyn glances down at his red scarf once more before meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry this might sound weird but… are you friends with Red Jenny?” Roselyn blinks.

The man smiles softly before nodding. He releases her hand and reaches into his breast pocket and produces a single note, tied with red yarn. He bows slightly and hands her the note.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Herald of Andraste.” He said in an Orlesian accent.

“My name is Roselyn. What’s your name?” Roselyn furrows her brow.

“My name isn’t important. I’m just a friend of a friend. Have a good night Roselyn.” He smiles again, his green eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

And just like that he climbs back up onto the carriage, driving away.

Roselyn blinks.

She looks down at the note in her hands. She slides the red yarn off of the note and unfolds it. Inside the note, a key.

_Good one yeah? At least you’re not blind._

_But that was an easy one. The next two might not be as easy._

_Friends of Red Jenny._

So, the key isn’t elves, just like she thought. It was the color red. The last two “friends” had been just ordinary people.

Roselyn rushes into the inn and runs up the stairs as quietly as possible. Her thoughts and heartbeat racing. She needed to talk to Varric and Cassandra. Hopefully the two hadn’t managed to kill each other before she got back. She quickly walks down the hall, her slippers softly clacking against the faded wooden floors. Once she reached the door at the end of the hall, she knocked softly.

No response.

She knocks a little louder.

Still no response.

She begins pounding her fist against the door.

She hears a door inside the room open and hears footsteps walking to the front door. The door opens slowly, and Roselyn sees a bleary-eyed Cassandra before her, dressed in a pair of breaches and a faded linen shirt that was untucked.

“Roselyn how was the—” Cassandra yawns.

“We have a lot to talk about.” Roselyn rushes past Cassandra, laying the two Red Jenny notes on the table in the middle of the common room.

Roselyn sees two bottles wine and dinner plates. She glances back at Cassandra who was following her to the table.

“Fun night?” Roselyn smirks.

“How was Madame de Fer?” Cassandra ignores her question.

“I have secured Vivienne as an ally for The Inquisition.” Roselyn rubs her face tiredly. “But we have other things to discuss.”

“Oh?” Cassandra blinks and picks up the notes from the Friends of Red Jenny.

“Like these notes.” Roselyn gestures to the notes.

“Maker’s Breath, can’t this wait until morning?” Varric grumbled tiredly, leaning against the door frame to his room.

“Sorry, no.” Roselyn sighs.

“Who are these Friends of Red Jenny?” Cassandra glances up, her brow furrowed.

“I was hoping one of you knew.” Roselyn glances at Varric.

“Why are you looking at me?” Varric holds up his hands.

“Well, do you know these Friends of Red Jenny?” Roselyn raises an eyebrow.

“I know… someone associated with this Red Jenny. I don’t know her well and I don’t know anything about the organization itself. We didn’t deal with them that much in Kirkwall.” Varric frowns.

“How do you know her?” Roselyn cocks her head to the side.

“She’s Hawke’s cousin. The two were close. She came to stay in Kirkwall a couple times.” Varric shrugs.

“Of course, The Champion is tied into this mess.” Cassandra scoffs.

“As far as I know, he didn’t deal with these Red Jennies either.” Varric shrugs.

Cassandra reads over the notes several times before handing the notes over to Varric. Cassandra sits at the table, staring blankly ahead, thoughts clearly swirling in front of her. Varric hums as he reads over the notes and hands them back to Roselyn.

“The first note was given to me by a servant at Madame Vivienne’s salon. The second was given to me by the carriage driver, after I had asked if he was a ‘friend of Red Jenny’.” Roselyn presses a finger to her chin, thinking out loud.

“So, they’re commoners.” Cassandra offers.

“Not just that, they’re the help.” Varric glances at Roselyn.

“The servant was an elvan woman and the carriage driver was a young human man.” Roselyn says.

“So, these friends could literally be anyone.” Cassandra sighs.

Roselyn turns her gaze over to the large window in the room. A little bit of light had begun leaking through over the other buildings in Val Royeaux. Brilliant shades of pink and orange streaked through the sky and Roselyn could see the peak of the sun. Roselyn turns back to Cassandra and Varric.

“We should head out to the market.” Roselyn claps her hands together.

“Sparky, the sun’s just coming up.” Varric yawns.

“Exactly! When do ‘the help’ do most of their shopping? In the earliest hours before they start their day.” Roselyn exclaims excitedly.

“That’s actually a good point.” Cassandra blinks.

“You should probably change first.” Varric chuckles.

“There’s no time. Let’s go!” Roselyn grins.

* * *

Roselyn pulled her faded cloak tightly around her shivering slightly in the cold of the morning. She scans her eyes over the bustling marketplace. Men, women, and children walked busily around them with their arms full of as much as they could carry. Roselyn scans over the crowd for any hint of red, with no success. She began walking by the produce. Lush pears, green grapes, and soft ripe peaches lined up one after another. Roselyn glances around her and notices that both Varric and Cassandra were no longer by her side. She stands on her toes to scan over the heads of the busy people brushing past her and notices Cassandra standing under a tree, chatting with a hooded figure, dressed in a green cloak.

Roselyn continues walking on the cobbled stone, glancing around for Varric, Orlesian accents and the melodic tone of the language flowing around her. In a moment, she spots Varric chatting with a young blonde woman, who was balancing a small blonde child on one hip, and a basket of bread on the other. Varric was eating an apple. A red apple.

Roselyn pushes past the busy people in the crowded marketplace, lifting the white skirts of her dress that she still hasn’t changed out of.

“Varric!” Roselyn calls out.

“Did you find another clue?” Varric chuckles.

The blonde woman’s eyes widen as she sees Roselyn, and she drops her large basket of bread.

“Oh merde… Oh— I uh— forgive me. Are you the Herald of Andraste?” The woman asks while trying to gather the contents of her basket with the child still in her arms. The child begins to cry.

“A few people choose to call me that. My name is Roselyn.” Roselyn starts picking up the pieces of bread and picks up the basket for the woman.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” The woman stares in wide eyed horror as Roselyn fills the basket and stands back up, she begins bouncing the child on her hip who looks at Roselyn with big blue eyes.

Roselyn swallows.

_“Oh Ros, she’s going to be beautiful… I know it! She will look just like her father…” Ophelia smiles while resting her hand on top of her swollen bump._

_“What if it’s a boy and he looks like you?” Roselyn chuckles._

_“Why would you say such a thing?!” Ophelia whines._

“Would you like to hold him?” The blonde woman smiles.

“Oh… you don’t have to—” Roselyn feels her mouth go dry.

“Non-sense. I can tell he likes you!” The woman takes her breadbasket back, resting it against her hip and begins to hand Roselyn the child.

Roselyn clumsily holds the child. She can feel her hands shake as she awkwardly holds the child, unsure if it was comfortable or not. The child continues to stare up at her with his beautiful big blue eyes. She can feel her heart beating out of her chest.

“You’re a natural!” The woman happily exclaims.

Roselyn had no idea what the woman was talking about. She never felt more awkward in her entire life. Who just hands off a baby to a stranger anyways? Roselyn offers a polite smile before offering the child back to his mother. The woman gladly takes the child back, she hums and presses a light kiss against his blonde hair.

“Varric where did you get that apple?” Roselyn turns to Varric.

“Oh, you mean this apple?” Varric smirks.

“Yes. That apple. Where did you get it?” Roselyn rolls her eyes.

“Over there.” Varric nods over to an apple vender, who was wearing a red scarf. “I got it along with this.” He smiles, holding up another note, tied together with red yarn.

Roselyn gasps and snatches the note, pulling the red yarn off and opening it. The blonde woman looks at the two of them quizzically before turning to Varric.

“I’ll take my leave, Varric. It was nice to meet you Herald!” She smiles warmly at Roselyn before turning and leaving, child and bread balancing on each hip.

“Who was that?” Roselyn leans over and whispers to Varric.

“One of my informants. We met many years ago in Kirkwall.” Varric smirks.

“Are you saying she spies for you?” Roselyn blinks.

“Eh, she just lets me know when she hears anything interesting and I help her out from time to time. It’s good to have ears everywhere Sparky.” Varric chuckles.

Roselyn hums in agreement and reads over the note, except this note was on the back of a stable report. The following reads in red paint,

_Thank you, Friends, for helping good lady Keris. Saw those who asked about Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them exit._

_Helps yeah?_

_Friends of Red Jenny_

Roselyn blinks and reads over the note again. They have a location and a key, but no time. She offers the note to Varric to have him read it over.

Roselyn scans over the crowded market again to find Cassandra.

* * *

It was Varric who had suggested they search the docks for their last missing message from the Friends of Red Jenny. Roselyn shields her eyes from the sun, squinting against the glare from the water.

“Who was that you were talking to, Seeker?” Varric glances at Cassandra.

“One of Leliana’s people. I was informing them of the situation, and I asked that they alert Leliana that we will be in Val Royeaux longer than planned.” Cassandra frowned.

“Maker forbid we’re late and Curly sends in the troops.” Varric chuckles.

“You joke, but I wouldn’t doubt it.” Cassandra takes the most recent Red Jenny note from Roselyn’s hands and scans over the note once more.

Roselyn scoffs.

“What?” Cassandra glances over.

“I didn’t say anything.” Roselyn shrugs.

Cassandra’s eyes linger on Roselyn for a few seconds before she glances back down at the note.

“What kind of fish do they catch at these docks?” Cassandra’s brow furrows.

“Do I look like a fisherman to you?” Varric raises an eyebrow.

“Over there!” Cassandra exclaims, pointing to a single man hauling a net with red fish.

Together the trio race over to the fisherman. He was tall and tanned with long brown hair that swept into his eyes as he worked. A red handkerchief was tied around his neck.

“Are you one of these Friends of Red Jenny?” Cassandra asks the man.

The man turns to look at them and smiles a lopsided smile before he brushes the hair out of his face. He reaches into the breast pocket of his vest and pulls out a folded note, tied together with red yarn. He bows his head before emptying his catch for the day in a wooden crate on a wheelbarrow.

Cassandra quickly disposes of the red yarn and unfolds the last note and begins reading it out loud.

_… And we are to obey well. We meet at three bells to discuss how best to serve The New Way._

Scrawled below in a misspelled script reads:

_Herald go at time. Praise Andrast_

“We have a time.” Roselyn whispers.

* * *

“Herald of Andraste. How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened The Inquisition _immeasurably!_ ” The Orlesian man stands tall, with his hands resting on his hips, a slight swagger to his walk.

“I don’t know who you are.” Roselyn raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“You don’t fool me. I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere” The man replies snidely.

In the distance they hear a blood curdling scream and the sound gurgling. Out of the corner of her eye, Roselyn notices a tall elven girl standing on the wall above them with her arrow drawn and a cheeky smile.

“Just say, _what._ ” The girl says in a Fereldan accent.

“What is the—” The man begins but is cut off by the elven girl releasing her arrow, the arrow striking the man through his open mouth.

“Ugh, squishy one but you heard me right? Just say what. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.” The girl hops down from the wall. “Blah, blah, blah, obey me, arrow in my face.” She says while pulling the arrow out of the man’s head.

Roselyn just stares, unable to even say anything.

“So, you followed the notes well enough, let’s see you’re… you’re rather plain really? I mean it’s all good innit, the important thing is that you glow. You’re the Herald thingy.” The woman continues, striding forward towards Roselyn.

“Glow? Sorry, what’s this all about?” Roselyn blinks.

“No idea, I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.” The elven girl shrugs.

“Your people? Elves?” Roselyn asks.

“No.” She chuckles. “ _People_ people. Name’s Sara, this is cover, get round it, for the reinforcements. Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.” The girl cackles.

Roselyn blinks, but like clockwork, out came the reinforcements, with as promised, no breeches.

“Why didn’t you take their weapons?!” Roselyn shouts.

“Because no breeches!” The girl cackles again.

Roselyn settles a barrier over her and her companions before attacking. She sets the nearest man on fire.

“Liar liar… Well, I guess his pants aren’t on fire.” The girl cackles before knocking an arrow back and striking him in the throat.

Cassandra rushes forward and knocks down two men with her shield and Varric sends an exploding arrow toward a group of archers. Roselyn freezes the archers in place before they have time to escape.

“Shit, almost like playing dirty innit?!” The girl shouts, knocking another arrow.

The arrow explodes and Cassandra grunts as she sticks her sword through the face of the last man standing.

“Friends really came through with that tip… no breeches! So, Herald of Andraste… You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.” The girl turns to face Roselyn.

Roselyn blinks and takes in the girl’s appearance. She was tall for an elf. Her blonde hair was… cropped and looked like it had been cut by a dull blade and by a child no less. She wore miss-matched clothing, strange yellow plaid bottoms, and a bright red tunic.

“How about we get to know each other first. You know. Names and such?” Roselyn laughs in disbelief.

“One name, no— two. It’s, well, it’s like this. I sent you a note to look for my friends. The friends of Red Jenny. That’s me! Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall, there were three in Starkhaven, brothers or something. It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, _friends_ , be part of something, while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. The Friends of Red Jenny is sort of out there. I use them to help you, plus, arrows.” The girl smiles.

“The Inquisition has spies already, can you add to these professionals?” Roselyn blinks.

“Here’s how it is,” Sera raises her hands up, framing Roselyn, Varric, and Cassandra. “You important people are up here, shoving your cods around blah blah, I’ll crush you, I’ll crush you… I’ll crush you— ooh crush you” The girl begins making kissing noises.

Varric stares, slack jawed.

The girl, Sera, clears her throat.

“Then you’ve got cloaks, and spy kings like this tit. But was he one of the little knives all serious _with his little knife?_ All those secrets and what gave him up? Some house boy who don’t know shite but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I’m not knifey shiv dark all hidden. If you don’t listen down here too you risk your breeches like those guards? I stole their…” Sera cackles. “Look, do you need people or not, I want everything to get back to normal. Like you!” She smiles.

“Alright, Sera. I can use you and your friends.” Roselyn blinks, unsure if this is a good idea.

“Yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus! Extra breeches because I have all these… You have merchants who will buy that piss yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway. Haven. See you there Harold. This. Will be grand!” The girl turns and walks away, leaving Cassandra, Varric, and Roselyn standing confused.

“Are Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana going to kill me for this?” Roselyn glances sideways at Varric and Cassandra.

“Doubtful. But I’m sure we’ll get an earful. Come on, let’s go.” Cassandra shakes her head.


	13. Unlikely Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roselyn receives word from her family before she leaves to continue her work for the Inquisition.

Cullen pinches the bridge of his nose, the pounding behind his tired eyes growing more vexing with each passing minute.

He stands alone, across the table from Josephine and Leliana, who were both discussing the most recent additions to the Inquisition. News spread like wildfire amongst those at Haven about the newest arrivals. Cullen had found that several of the Inquisition’s recruits had heard of this ‘Red Jenny’, but these recruits were from all over Orlais, Fereldan, and the Free Marches, surely not all of these accounts could be true… Could they? This ‘Red Jenny’ had marched into Haven less than a week ago with nothing but the clothes on her back and bow in her hand, and soon her cackling could be heard everywhere. She had managed to hitch a ride with a few Inquisition soldiers making their own way back into Haven, and the soldiers reported that she was quite proficient with a bow, but they could hardly make any sense of the things she would say.

Sera quickly became a favorite amongst the recruits.

On more than _one_ occasion, Sera had interrupted Cullen’s drills. The first time, she had snuck into every single soldier’s tent and had stolen all of their left shoes, causing hundreds of soldiers to hop out of their tents on either one foot or risk soiling their socks in the snow. Then on another occasion, Sera had snuck into a commanding officer’s tent and filled his bedroll with horse manure and then proceeded to pour lake water all over the bedroll. Apparently, the commanding officer had cruelly humiliated a soldier the day before

Vivienne de Fer had shown up three days after Sera, with over ten trunks in tow. As soon as Cullen had seen her arrive, her had immediately retreated into his tent, letting Josephine deal with the latest addition to the Inquisition. He had enough to deal with between the Inquisition soldiers and Sera’s latest prank.

“She said _what_ to the Marquis?” Josephine gasps, looking at Leliana.

“I believe it was ‘Oi fancy pants, get a load of this shite’ before she sling-shot animal droppings at the back of his head.” The ghost of a smile threatens to crack across Leliana’s face.

Josephine stares at Leliana while gripping her pen firmly, her eyes wide in horror.

The door to the war room opens suddenly and everyone’s heads snap in the direction of the open door, Cassandra walks in still wearing her riding clothes and a weary expression on her face. Roselyn follows closely behind Cassandra, her hands clasped behind her back. She was also still wearing her riding clothes, but her usual braid had been let loose and fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Cullen couldn’t help but stare.

Roselyn’s eyes meet his own.

“It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your encounter.” Josephine clears her throat.

“My agents sent word.” Leliana clasps her hands behind her back before nodding.

“It’s a shame the templars abandoned their senses, as well as the capitol.” Cullen glances down at the maps of Orlais and frowns.

The news from Val Royeaux was surprising. He never would have expected this kind of behavior from the Templars. Surely not everyone felt the same.

“At least we know the Chantry is no longer a threat to us.” The corners of Roselyn’s lips dip into a small frown.

“Yes, and now we have the opening we need to approach the templars.” Josephine glances between Roselyn and Cassandra.

“Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.” Cassandra frowns deeply.

“True. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been…” Leliana frowns before continuing, “very odd.”

“We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” Cullen says firmly, clasping the pommel of his sword.

“Or we could meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.” Roselyn turns towards Cullen.

“Redcliffe?” Leliana blinks.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona approached as we were leaving Val Royeaux, extending an invitation to the Herald.” Cassandra glances at Leliana.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” Cullen narrows his eyes at Roselyn.

Roselyn lifts up her chin to meet his gaze.

“I was a templar, I know what they’re capable of. I know they can close The Breach. I’m sure the mages are very capable, but they could also make the situation very worse.” Cullen says lowly.

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe. The mages may be worth the risk.” Josephine chides in.

“They are powerful, Ambassador, but more desperate than you realize.” Cassandra purses her lips.

“So, it’ll be dangerous. I’ve been in danger since I walked out of the Fade.” Roselyn laughs dryly.

“If some among the rebel mages are responsible for what happened at the Conclave...” Cassandra shakes her head.

“And what of the Templars Cassandra? What if your precious Templars are responsible?” Roselyn raises one eyebrow while staring at Cassandra, the rest of her expression remaining unchanging.

“They are not _my_ templars.” Cassandra scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“I’ve seen the way you hesitate to attack them in the field. ‘We are not apostates!’ I have news for you Cassandra, technically since the Circles fell, I _am_ an apostate.” Roselyn crosses her arms over her chest.

Cullen begins chewing the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood reaches his tongue.

“The same could be said for you and Solas!” Cassandra raises her voice, her cheeks beginning to glow red in the candlelight.

“Enough.” Leliana cuts in.

Cullen glances back over at Roselyn. Her full lips were already parted in preparation for her next argument, but otherwise her facial expression remained unchanged. He glances over at Cassandra who was glaring and rosy cheeked in the face of the argument, her lips pressed into a fine line and nostrils flaring.

“As of the moment, I’m not certain we have the resources to approach the Order safely.” Cullen glances down at the maps on the war table, reports and letters littering around the edges.

“In the meantime, we should consider other options.” Josephine nods.

Cassandra turns on her heel and exits the chantry, not looking back. Leliana rounds the table before making eye contact with Cullen and giving him a knowing look before following behind Cassandra. Cullen glances back at Josephine whose brow had knit itself into an expression of concern as she glances down at the letter she grasps in her hands before glancing back up at Roselyn.

Cullen frowns before nodding to Josephine and turns to exit the room. As he turns, he notices Roselyn staring at him with silver eyed intensity that catches him off guard. He clears his throat before nodding to her and exiting as well, heat threatening to rise to his cheeks. 

“Herald, I’m afraid I have news.” He hears Josephine say.

* * *

“Herald, please take a seat.” Josephine walks around her desk and sits.

Roselyn blinks and stares at Josephine.

“I think I’ll stand.” Roselyn says suspiciously.

“Heral—” Josephine stops herself. “Lady Trevelyan. I insist, please.” Josephine pleads.

_Well, shit._

Josephine clearly did not want to tell her what was wrong, but something was _clearly_ wrong. Roselyn feels a sense of dread fill her stomach and she bites her lip. Slowly she sits down on the worn leather chair and places her hands in her lap.

“What is it Josephine?” Roselyn asks, wanting to ignore the anxiety fluttering behind her ribs.

“We spoke briefly about your parents before you left for Val Royeaux, and you had granted me permission to try and reach out on the behalf of the Inquisition.” Josephine glances down at the letter she was holding.

Roselyn remembers very clearly, but she honestly did not think that they would receive a response when she had given Josephine her permission.

Roselyn nods.

“We have received word from your mother.” Josephine looks up.

* * *

The next day, the Herald left for Crestwood.

There had been news of a well-respected and renown mercenary group who had extended an invitation to see their work up close. In addition, Leliana had asked her to seek out a Gray Warden that had taken residence in the Hinterlands, in hopes of seeking out more information regarding their disappearance. Cullen did not have the chance to speak with her before her departure.

She had left with Cassandra, Sera, and Vivienne.

Before their departure, Cullen knew that Josephine had alerted the Seeker about the letter she had received from the Herald’s family. Cassandra had assured them that she would be sure to keep an eye on her.

Cullen couldn’t help but feel the guilt settle over him. He wasn’t sure how close the Herald was with her family, but he knew that death always brought difficult emotions and memories to the forefront. Especially when there was more than one death in the family. Everyone had to deal with losses at the conclave, but at this point everyone has had the time to grieve and mourn their losses to some degree. Now they were asking her to go out into the wilderness for the inquisition, facing Maker knows what, and she never complained.

Cullen winces and pinches the bridge of his nose; he feels the slow starting dull pain of a headache beginning.

“Perfect.” He grimaces.

“Commander?” He hears Leliana’s voice break through his thoughts.

He opens his eyes and sees her standing at the entrance of his tent, her blue eyes sharp and piercing.

“Yes?” He releases the bridge of his nose, resting his hand on top of the reports he was supposed to be reading.

“Are you well?” She tilts her head, watching him.

“A headache, nothing more. How can I help you?” He sighs.

“Did you speak with Josephine this morning?” She walks over to his makeshift desk and sits on one of the crates in front of it.

“Yes.” He glances down at the desk before looking back up, “She told me of the Herald’s reaction to the news.”

Leliana hums in response, glancing down at her hands that were folded in her lap.

“I have faith this will not inhibit her from doing what she needs to do. We all know what’s at stake.” Leliana continues staring down at her lap.

Now it was Cullen’s turn to hum in response.

“It doesn’t make it any less difficult.” Cullen glances down at the reports spread out in front of him and rubs his pounding temple.

“Indeed.” Leliana stands up and pulls her hood over her head once more, “Please, go see Adan about your headache.” She nods in farewell before Cullen is once again left alone with his thoughts.

Cullen does actually go see Adan.

He marches past the familiar small wood cabins, the tavern flourishing with life even in the early afternoon. When he finally reaches the door, he knocks softly before entering the building, the scent of dried elfroot hitting him, almost stopping him in his tracks.

Drying herbs hang from the ceiling and walls of the small cabin, with Adan working away in his corner, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Cullen quickly shuts the door behind him and awkwardly stands there, glancing around.

Cullen clears his throat.

“Commander.” Adan half raises his hand in acknowledgment to Cullen’s presence, continuing to read from the tattered notes and search the table below him for the ingredients he looks for.

“Adan.” Cullen returns the greeting.

“What can I do you for?” Adan asks gruffly while glancing back over his shoulder.

“I uh— was looking for something to soothe headaches.” He mutters.

“Again?” Adan stops what he’s doing and finally turns to face him.

Cullen hums in response.

“These aren’t normal headaches, are they?” Adan narrows his eyes.

“I don’t understand what you mean.” Cullen blinks.

“Tell me Commander, when did you quit taking Lyrium?” Adan folds his arms over his chest.

“When I— quit the order.” Cullen stammers his response and rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably; this wasn’t something he wished to discuss with many.

“You should have told me. Could’ve saved ya a lot more trouble.” Adan raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” Cullen blinks.

“Well, I can’t cure you. No one can, if that’s what you were going to ask. But with the right combination of herbs, we can at least help with some of the symptoms.” Adan turns his attention to the wall of dried herbs that he kept in glass bottles above his workstation and began grabbing various bottles.

“Which symptoms?” Cullen’s eyebrows knit together.

“Well, headaches for one. You can’t just treat them like normal fuckin’ headaches. Nausea. Drowsiness. Body-aches and pains.” Adan grumbles as he works.

“Nightmares?” Cullen raises an eyebrow.

“Ah. ‘fraid not that one. I can whip up something that will give you a killer night’s sleep though. Shouldn’t take that regularly.” Adan shrugs.

Cullen hums in response. Anything was better than nothing he supposed.

Adan begins grinding the herbs together with his mortar and pestle, grumbling under his breath. When he finishes, he takes a palm sized sachet and empties the herbs inside it and ties it. He turns back to Cullen and tosses the sachet to him nonchalantly.

“Twice a day. Once in the morning and once in the evening. Brew a teaspoon with your tea. Don’t cock it up and do too much unless you want a nasty case of dry mouth and diarrhea.” Adan places his hands on his waist.

“Thank you.” Cullen nods.

“Don’t thank me. Just keep trying to fix this fucked up world we’re living in.” Adan turns back to what he was previously working on and waves dismissively.

* * *

They receive word two weeks later that the Herald had recruited a mercenary company called The Bull’s Charger’s, with a Qunari leading the group. A Ben-Hassrath Qunari agent called The Iron Bull. In Trevelyan’s letter, she had instructed them to watch this Iron Bull carefully, stating her mistrust.

“She is right of course; things are precarious as it is. These Chargers could prove useful to the Inquisition, as well as these reports Iron Bull has promised from other Ben-Hassrath agents, but we would do well to remain wary.” Leliana says thoughtfully.

“Do you really think we can trust this Iron Bull?” Cullen raises an eyebrow.

He had dealt with his fair share of issues coming from the Qunari. He did not want this to be yet another disaster mirroring his past.

“No, but I think Trevelyan is correct, that this is a calculated risk we have to take. I will alert my agents and we will watch carefully. He was forthright with this information, so, that could mean one of two things. First, it could mean exactly what he says that it means, that he was assigned to watch the Inquisition, as well as report on the events in the South, and his truthfulness could be an olive branch of good faith. The second, this could prove to be a tactic of manipulation. Regardless, we will have to be careful.” Leliana scans over the reports once more, pursing her lips in the process.

“The Chargers have a pristine reputation across Orlais, their help will surely also prove useful to the Inquisition and provide additional support for our troops.” Josephine nods and makes eye contact with Cullen. 

“True enough, but I’m not sure how kindly the troops will take to the Inquisition hiring a band of mercenaries.” Cullen rubs the back of his neck.

He will have to talk to Rylan and prepare the commanding officers for any type of reaction.

“I am sure they will understand that any help that we may seek out during these trying times will surely help us in the future.” Josephine jots down a few lines of notes, without making eye contact.

“We will watch the situation.” Leliana nods.

* * *

The Iron Bull and The Chargers arrive in Haven a week later, a rowdy group to be sure, but professionals all the same. In fact, Cullen found himself impressed by The Chargers. Krem, the second-in-command, had offered to lend a hand with training the new recruits, earning him a raised eyebrow look of surprise from Cullen himself.

When Cullen walked through the war camp, instructing his soldiers new recruits proper technique during drills, he found himself feeling as though he were being watched. After several days, he realized that he was indeed being watched by the Qunari leader of The Chargers. The day after he realized, Iron Bull approached him and told him that he was doing good work training the new recruits. Cullen found himself giving him the same raised eyebrow look of surprise.

* * *

They receive word a week after The Charger’s arrival that the Herald had managed to recruit the Gray Warden into the ranks of the Inquisition, and that he was also on his way to Haven, much to the surprise of Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine.

“Well, it appears this Warden Blackwall doesn’t know anything about the disappearance of the Wardens. This news is disappointing.” Leliana holds the reports that they had received from the Herald and Cassandra.

“But his association with the Inquisition will no doubt be invaluable.” Josephine nods approvingly.

“Yes, quite.” Cullen agrees.

“The Herald and her companions have done quite a bit to help the local refugees, even garnering the aid from a local cult, to which they have requested their assistance with the refugees in the Crossroads.” Leliana looks up from the report again.

“I have received word from Corporal Vale, he reports that they are finally in good shape, and just in time too before the frost settles over The Hinterlands.” Cullen looks down over the maps of Fereldan.

“We should probably be expecting Trevelyan’s arrival within a week or two.” Josephine hums while scratching a few notes down.

Cullen feels his heartbeat quicken at the thought. He chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the feeling.


	14. Allies and their Malcontents

They were supposed to be heading back to Haven. Instead, Roselyn had brought her companions to Redcliffe to seek out the mages, much to the disappointment of Cassandra. Roselyn had explained to her that she was not making the final decision, but in order for them to make the most educated decision in this matter, they had to at least hear them out. That answer had satisfied Cassandra.

Roselyn tosses up her hood, wanting to remain anonymous with her travelling companions. They approach the gates of Redcliffe, only to find a rift. Roselyn feels a strange pulling sensation at the back of her mind, causing her head to ache, as they begin fighting off the demons pouring out of the rift.

A shade snarls as it moves towards her and Roselyn darts sideways to narrowly avoid its thrashing claws… Except it wasn’t a narrow escape. Roselyn stares wide eyed at the demon before her, its movements slowed exponentially, as if its veins had been made of ice and it had been stuck in a pit of tar. Quickly, she regains her composure, pulling lightening out of the fade to strike the slow-moving demon. When her attack reaches the demon, she watches as the lightening crackles through the air, and she sees the branches of electricity reaching for the demon before it strikes. She realizes that like the demon, her spell had also slowed.

_What is this, magic? Another side effect of The Breach?_

She feels the broken flow of the fade as she pulls it through. It doesn’t flow easily, but it isn’t difficult for her either. It almost feels as though there were multiple channels manipulating the fade around her, causing some sort of disruption.

When the last demon finally falls, she reaches her hand up toward the tear and seals the rift before any more demons are able to claw their way through.

“What sort of magic is this?” Cassandra asks while catching her breath.

“I’m not sure… I’ve never seen or felt anything like this before.” Roselyn frowns.

“Nor have I. A side effect of the Breach, perhaps?” Vivienne glances towards Roselyn.

“Shite, there goes magic, shitting everything up again.” Sera frowns while adding an arrow back to her quiver.

“Perhaps we’ll learn more in Redcliffe.” Roselyn says hopefully.

“Yes, perhaps.” Roselyn catches Vivienne narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Together, Roselyn and her companions travel forward through the gates into Redcliffe.

“Herald!” Roselyn recognized one of the Inquisition’s scouts as they walked up to her and her companions. Roselyn had talked to them a few days prior, telling them to go to Redcliffe and tell them that they were coming to speak with Grand Enchanter Fiona. “We’ve spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us.” He says. 

“No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Roselyn’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone.” He shrugs. “We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.”

An elven man with an anxious look on his face quickly approaches Roselyn and her companions while they speak with the scout.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly.” He bows his head in apology. “You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

Roselyn turns her head back to her companions, all of them sharing the same look of concern. Roselyn nods as they pass silent words between them.

They pass pay numerous soldiers, Chantry Mothers praying and reciting the Chant, and mages. Roselyn hadn’t seen this many mages collected together since the last time she was in the Circle. It was a strange feeling for her, after about two years of her acting in almost solitude. Since joining the Inquisition, there were other mages to be sure, but nothing like this.

“The Veil feels thin here… And… Vivienne, I still feel that strange feeling in the back of my head.” Roselyn glances back to Vivienne as they walk through Redcliffe.

“Yes, it feels as though… Something has changed. I can’t quite place a finger on it.” Vivienne grimaces.

“I’ve never felt this before.” She mutters under her breath.

“Neither have I, my dear.” Vivienne frowns once more.

A conversation catches Roselyn’s attention, pulling her out of her conversation with Vivienne. Roselyn stops talking to hear better as they approach the source of the two voices.

“You should talk to the Magister. You’re the rightful heir to Redcliffe.” A low voice by the docks says.

Roselyn moves closer to hear better.

“In Tevinter, they would never take that away just because you’re a mage.” The voice continues.

Roselyn finds two mages standing, looking over the waters, the one wearing tattered robes was the one who had been speaking.

“After what I did… I’m not sure I should be here” The other man says in a softer tone.

“It’s not your fault. It could’ve happened to any of us.” The older of the two tries to reassure.

“That doesn’t help! That’s why people hate us!” The man who had been previously speaking softly raises his voice.

“But—” The other one tries to argue.

“Just stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man with dark, sandy blonde hair looks down at his feet, a look of shame overcoming him.

“Are you… Are you Conner?” Roselyn asks, intruding on their conversation.

She had heard the stories about what had happened in Redcliffe. It was a story one of the Chantry Mother’s had lectured her with upon her arrival at the Ostwick Circle when she was fifteen. It was a story that was then repeated, again and again to her, as a message of warning. A warning to all mages who wanted to be rid of the Circles. Oftentimes, it was a story used to lecture her for avoiding the Circles for so long. Of course, the story was a sad one, many people died in Redcliffe for the actions (and inaction) of the Arl’s son and the Arlessa, but what always broke Roselyn’s heart wasn’t the death and destruction. It was the mere fact that the Arlessa had tried so hard to keep her child with her, not wanting to let him go, not wanting to leave him to the fate of the Circle.

When Roselyn’s own mother had learned of her magic, she refused to ever look or speak to her again.

“You’ve heard the story, I guess?” Conner frowns, looking at her in the eye. “I can’t believe Queen Anora thought Redcliffe was the right place to send the mages. She knew what had happened… Did he think they would just forget what I did to them?”

“ _You_ were behind the siege of Redcliffe ten years ago?” Cassandra frowns.

“That’s me,” He says with a shaky breath. “The boy with Redcliffe’s blood on his hands.”

“Weren’t you possessed? It wasn’t you who did those things.” Roselyn offers sympathetically.

“Wasn’t it? I let the demon in.” He looks down and frowns. “Sometimes when I dream, I remember what happened. I see death and destruction. And it’s me. It’s all me.”

Death and destruction. Something Roselyn had become all too familiar with in the recent weeks.

“How did you end up in the Mage Rebellion?” Roselyn asks.

“I was living in the Fereldan Tower when the Circles dissolved. I voted against it, but…” His voice breaks. “At first, it seemed all right. No one was summoning demons. They just wanted to oversee themselves. But then the Magister came and… It’s wrong, what they do in Tevinter. We _are_ monsters. We need to be controlled. If it wasn’t for me… Every family in this village wouldn’t be missing a son, a daughter, a spouse.” He adds with a shaky breath.

“You’re not in favor of the alliance with Tevinter?” Cassandra asks.

“Alliance.” He laughs dryly. “Is that what they’re calling it? That Magister threw my uncle out into the street! He signed us into servitude! This is my home. Redcliffe. Ferelden. No matter what evils I’ve done, I would never have invited Tevinter here.” Connor huffs.

“Please, talk some sense into the Grand Enchanter. Selling out to the Imperium won’t win us any friends. We have to find a way to make peace.” Connor glances out to the water again.

* * *

They finally find themselves in the tavern. The bustling noise of song and chatter, the sound of clattering tankards and tableware, are almost too loud for Roselyn to think. Roselyn’s eyes scan over the crowd, looking for signs of the Grand Enchanter.

“That’s her, over there.” Vivienne’s voice is low as she leans in closer to Roselyn, nodding at a small Elven woman with cropped dark hair and olive skin.

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition.” The woman speaks, her voice strong and stern, with an Orlesian accent.

“Thank you, Grand Enchanter.” Roselyn nods in response.

“What has brought _you_ , to Redcliffe?” Fiona tilts her head to the side, one of her eyebrows slightly raised.

“We’re here… Because of your invitation back in Val Royeaux.” Roselyn narrows her eyes in confusion, glancing back at Cassandra.

“You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the conclave.” Fiona glances between Roselyn and her companions.

“Well, that is very strange, considering I just spoke with someone who looked exactly like you in Val Royeaux a few weeks ago.” Roselyn narrows her eyes again.

“Exactly like me? I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone… Whoever… Or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed.” Fiona frowns, her large gray eyes look downwards. “The Free Mages have already… Pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.” She frowns.

“A rather _unfortunate_ decision, my dear, don’t you think?” Vivienne speaks with venom in her voice.

“And you lot wonder why we can’t trust mages. Or magic. Or both.” Sera frowns.

“As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.” Fiona sighs.

“An alliance with Tevinter is a terrible mistake. Do you really think they care about the mages in the south? When has that ever been the case?” Roselyn folds her arms over her chest.

“All hope of peace died with Justinia.” Fiona shakes her head. “This… Bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we had _no choice_. We are losing this war. I needed to save as many of my people as I could.”

“Do you really think this is saving them?” Cassandra finally speaks.

Before Fiona can open her mouth to answer, they can hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind them. Roselyn and her companions turn their head to look and find two men standing tall, their robes elaborate and pointed, clearly Tevinter.

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” The older of the two men speaks.

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.” Fiona nods her head.

“The southern mages are under my command. And you are the… _survivor_ , yes? The one from the Fade? _Interesting_.” The man’s lined face shows zero emotion as he speaks.

“I’d like to know more about this alliance between the Rebel Mages and the Imperium.” Roselyn clasps her hands behind her back.

“Certainly, what specifically do you wish to know?” Alexius tilts his head to the side.

“I haven’t seen any sign of Redcliffe’s Arl.” Roselyn narrows her eyes.

“The Arl of Redcliffe _left_ the village.” The corners of Alexius’ mouth twitch, only for a moment, into a smirk. “There were… Tensions growing. I did not want an incident.”

“Left? Arl Teagan did not abandon his lands during the Blight. Even when his lands were under siege.” Cassandra adds suspiciously.

“You’re quite a long way from Tevinter, Alexius.” Roselyn takes a few steps towards the Magister.

“Indeed, I am, though you sound like no Fereldan, either. It seems we are _both_ strangers in this land.” Alexius raises one eyebrow while looking at her.

Alexius turns to a table and offers Roselyn a seat.

“Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends.” Alexius gestures to the younger man with dark hair and a sun-kissed complexion.

Felix does a quick bow, notably in Tevinter fashion, Roselyn realizes.

“I am not surprised you’re here. Containing The Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt.” Alexius leans in closer. “There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

“We can hardly afford to think small here, Alexius. You know, massive tear in the sky, the world going to shit and all that.” Roselyn folds her arms over her chest once more, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“There will have to be—” Alexius begins before going wide eyed while glancing over Roselyn’s shoulder. Roselyn quickly turns and sees Felix, stumbling over to the table, looking ill.

Roselyn immediately stands and closes the distance between her and the man, just in time to catch him as he collapses.

“Are you alright?” She asks, wide eyed.

“Felix!” Alexius exclaims, jumping up from his seat and rounding the table, rushing to his son’s side.

“My Lady, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Felix says weakly, looking Roselyn in the eyes and clasping her hands for balance.

“Are you alright?” Alexius moves closer to his son, helping him gain his balance on his own two feet.

“I’m fine, father.” Felix looks down, embarrassed.

“Come, I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time.” Alexius walks towards the exit, keeping his son close. “Fiona, come. I require your assistance at the castle.”

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone.” Felix’s eyebrows knit together.

“I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.” Alexius nods to Roselyn before exiting the tavern with his son.

Roselyn stares after them before turning her attention to the small, crumpled note she had been holding in her hand, given to her by Felix when he collapsed in her arms.

“Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.” She mutters under her breath, reading the note out loud.

“Well, aren’t we all secret-y.” Sera scoffs.

“We’ll be careful, but we need to figure out what’s going on here.” Roselyn turns to her companions.

Roselyn turns her head and sees a young mage, about the same age as her, with rich deep brown hair, tied in a familiar braided fashion. The mage was staring intensely at her, with her thin mouth pressed in a thin line.

“I’m sorry, but do I know you from somewhere?” Roselyn cocks her head to the side.

“ _Of course_ , you wouldn’t remember. I too, was at the Ostwick circle, a few years younger than you. I actually trained with that girl that hung around you all the time.” The woman frowns. “You were the perfect student. You were the one First Enchanter Lydia _hand-picked_ to study under her. Special treatment for a noble girl, all for the _politics_ in the Circle.” The girl sneers.

“I’m sorry… I— who are you?” Roselyn frowns.

“Linnea. My name’s Linnea.” Linnea’s voice drips with venom.

“I’m sorry Linnea, I don’t remember who you are.” Roselyn frowns.

“Of course not, I’m not _important_ enough to remember.” The girl rolls her eyes at Roselyn. “Under the Tevinter Imperium, all mages will be treated with respect. Not just the perfect students and the ones of noble birth.”

“You really think things will be better for you under the Tevinter Imperium? It could be a lot worse.” Roselyn shakes her head.

“It can’t get any worse than being awoken to the sound of children screaming while _Templars_ run their swords through them. Or have you forgotten?” Linnea’s nostrils flare in anger at Roselyn.

“Of _course,_ I haven’t forgotten.” Roselyn hisses. “I wake up every fucking night still hearing their screams.”

“The Inquisition is just the Templars under a new name.” She spats. “You lot are just going to do what they’ve always done, lock up and control mages. Under the Tevinter Imperium, we won’t have to worry about being locked up ever again.”

“My my, what a twisted reality you live in my dear.” Vivienne cuts in, her words like ice.

“Let’s go.” Roselyn glares at the woman one last time before turning on her heel to exit the tavern, her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage. She can feel her nails digging into the skin of her palms.

* * *

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this would you?” A man, clearly of Tevinter and a sparkle in his eye, smirks at Roselyn as they enter the Chanter.

Dead demons lay at his feet, and he doesn’t look like he’s even breaking a sweat. Roselyn blinks in surprise. Roselyn feels the same ache in the back of her skull that she had first felt upon encountering the rift at the gates of Redcliffe. The feeling had never gone away, but now while she looks up at the rift in the Chantry, she notices that the pain is much more intense than it had been when they were walking around the village.

She raises her glowing hand towards the rift, feeling energy flow through her fingers as she pulls at the strings of the veil, stitching it closed.

Once the rift is finally closed, she flexes her fingers before looking up at the man, who was still smirking at her, the corners of his mustache tugging upward.

“Fascinating, how does that work, exactly?” The man takes a few strides forward, closing the distance between himself and Roselyn. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes.” He says, amused.

“And who are you exactly?” Roselyn blinks.

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” Dorian bows dramatically in the Tevinter fashion. 

“Let one Tevinter in, suddenly they’re scurrying out of the wall. Like roaches.” Vivienne rolls her eyes.

“Now now, I’m ever so much more handsome than a cockroach.” He smirks at Vivienne.

“I was expecting Felix to be here.” Roselyn narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“I’m sure he’s on the way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.” Dorian sighs.

“Is something wrong with Felix?” Roselyn cocks her head to the side.

“He’s had some lingering illness for months. Felix is an only child, and Alexius is being a mother hen, most likely.” Dorian glances downward and shrugs.

“Are you a magister thingy?” Sera cuts in.

“All right. Let’s say this once. I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium, I know southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.” He sighs.

“Are you the one that sent the note, then?” Cassandra steps forward.

“I am. Someone had to warn you lot, after all.” Dorian looks up, his eyes sparkling. “Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming all the rebel mages out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“I’ve never heard of time-controlling magic, not in all my studies.” Roselyn narrows her eyes and glances sideways at Vivienne. “Manipulating time itself? Many have _attempted_ over the ages, but never once succeeded.” Vivienne frowns.

“I’d like a little more proof than, “Magical time control! Go with it.” Roselyn cocks her head to the side once more, raising an eyebrow.

“I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?” Dorian frowns.

“He didn’t do it for them.” Felix’s voice cuts into their conversation, Roselyn and her companions turn around to face him.

“Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?” Dorian asks.

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Felix grimaces. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“All this for me? And here I didn’t get Alexius anything.” Roselyn rolls her eyes and smirks.

“Send him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those.” Dorian chuckles. “You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” Dorian turns to exit the Chantry, before he does so he turns back towards Felix. “And Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.”

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian.” Felix grimaces before turning to exit the Chantry as well.

“Oh, demons don’t scare me, I’ll fight ten at once. Ease up, big horse.” Sera rolls her eyes.

“It’s not arrogance if it’s earned, Sera dear. We’ll see if he deserves it.” The corners of Vivienne’s mouth turn upwards slightly into a smirk.

“He seemed… competent.” Cassandra’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“High praise, coming from you.” Roselyn chuckles. “We need to get back to Haven.” She sighs, turning to leave the Chantry.


	15. Fractured

Roselyn rides her speckled gray horse alongside Cassandra’s chestnut one. They had been riding in a comfortable silence for a while, save the bickering coming from Sera and Vivienne several paces back, as Cassandra and Roselyn lead the group back to Haven. They had only been travelling for a few hours and still hadn’t made it out of The Hinterlands, but it felt like they had been riding for days. She was glad to be finally heading back to Haven after these long weeks.

The plan was for them to meet up with The Iron Bull and his Chargers, and then for them to ride south to find a Gray Warden rumored to be travelling through The Hinterlands, in search of answers. Roselyn found herself busying herself with other tasks along the way, however. Upon their arrival in the Crossroads once more, Roselyn could see the problems that the refugees were facing. The Inquisition’s resources were limited and slow moving while they established caravan routes through the area, so they had decided to take some matters into their own hands.

When they finally left, they left knowing that the refugees had a better chance at surviving now than they did days before.

Roselyn knows this was not a completely selfless act on her part. Truly, she was grateful to keep herself busy, anything to avoid the hallow pain that had been aching in her chest since she left Haven.

“Herald?” Cassandra’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts.

“Pardon? Try again.” Roselyn rolls her eyes. It was bad enough that the title had become a replacement for any semblance of a name for her amongst strangers, but she could really do without anyone else referencing to her with it.

“Roselyn.” Cassandra sighs.

“Yes, Cassandra?” Roselyn answers sweetly.

“Back in Redcliffe… When that mage approached you?” Roselyn could feel Cassandra’s hazel eyes bear into her, searching.

“Yes?” Roselyn stiffens.

“She had mentioned… The Ostwick Circle.” Roselyn could hear the frown in Cassandra’s voice as she spoke. “She had mentioned what happened to your Circle.”

“Yes?” Roselyn continues staring forward.

“Is what she said true? There have been so little recounts of the events that lead to your Circle’s dissolvement. Strange, considering the Ostwick Circle’s adamant position on remaining neutral through the war.” Cassandra speaks carefully.

“There were so little recounts of the events, because most died in the Tower that night.” Roselyn replies stiffly.

“I see.” Cassandra frowns. “Except a few that escaped.”

“Right. Escaped.” Roselyn laughs dryly.

“You escaped, did you not?” Cassandra blinks.

“I guess you could call it that.” Roselyn shrugs.

“How did you…?” Cassandra stares at her.

“I don’t remember.” Roselyn lies, gripping the reigns of her horse with a white-knuckle grip. What she would give to stop talking about this?

“I see.” Cassandra frowns.

* * *

“We have received word from Cassandra.” Leliana’s voice pulls Cullen from his thoughts.

He had been watching the new recruits during their drills when Leliana first approached him, letter in hand. Cullen takes a deep breath of the cold sharp air that burned through his lungs before he turns to face Leliana.

“They made contact with the mages in Redcliffe.” Leliana maintains a careful expression while looking up at Cullen. “And the situation is… not good.”

“Of course, it’s not.” He scoffs.

_Did he not warn them?_

“They should be arriving in Haven any day now. Her letter was brief, so that is all the news I have, I’m afraid.” She folds the letter carefully.

“I see.” Cullen says, turning his attention back to the recruits.

* * *

Cullen had been briefing the commanding officers when they arrived in Haven. They saw them riding in the corner of his eye, but once everyone else had noticed their arrival, Cullen lost all hope at keeping their attention. Soon, the soldiers running drills stopped to stare at their arrival and whooped and cheered when she brings up a hand to wave and laughs.

“Finally!” He hears the familiar sound of Sera’s voice ring out as she hops down from her horse. “I’m STARVING!” She cries out before tearing over towards the tavern.

Cullen sees Roselyn throw her head back in laughter, her blonde braid swaying as she laughs.

“My dear, is she just going to leave her horse here?” Vivienne frowns.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll bring it to the stables.” Roselyn waves at Vivienne nonchalantly.

Cullen finds himself walking over towards the commotion, never taking his eyes off of them.

“Ah, Cullen.” He hears Cassandra’s voice and glances over towards her as she jumps down from her own horse.

“Lady Cassandra, how was your journey?” He asks, reaching for her horse’s reigns for her. “We received your message.” 

“The journey back was fine, we travelled with little issue now that things have finally calmed down a little more in the Hinterlands.” She lets him take her horse’s reigns for her and she continues walking with him to the stables, several paces behind Roselyn who was guiding both her own horse and Sera’s horse.

“Ah, Herald. You’ve arrived.” Cullen hears Warden Blackwall’s gruff voice speak as he appears, coming out of the stables himself.

“It’s good to see you again, Blackwall. But ‘Roselyn’ is fine.” Roselyn chuckles before handing Blackwall Sera’s horse’s reigns.

Cullen finds his eyes follow Roselyn as she continues chatting with Blackwall, her eyes sparkling as she asks him about his journey to Haven. Cullen frowns.

“There is much to discuss.” Cassandra finally says, following his gaze.

* * *

“Lady Trevelyan!” Josephine smiles upon Roselyn’s arrival in the War Chamber.

Roselyn was the last to arrive in the chamber it seems. As her eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, she notices Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen standing at one side of the large table, and Cassandra opposite of them. Roselyn takes her residence beside Cassandra.

“We have read Cassandra’s report from Redcliffe.” Leliana says, her eyes carefully trained on Roselyn.

“I see.” Roselyn clasps her hands behind her back and readies her steady façade. “We need to take the mages from Alexius. We cannot ignore what is happening in Redcliffe.”

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle. Either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go and get the Templars.” Cullen says gruffly.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Tevinter Magister, this cannot be allowed to stand.” Cassandra frowns.

Roselyn blinks and glances over at Cassandra, who was holding her steady gaze on Cullen. She was surprised by Cassandra’s switch in position, before they had met with the mages in Redcliffe, Cassandra had been adamant about searching for the Templars.

“The letter from Alexius asked for the _Herald of Andraste by name._ It’s an obvious trap.” Josephine frowns and looks down at her notes.

“So, we have heard from Magister Alexius, I expected as much.” Roselyn scoffs. “Regardless, we can’t just sit and _let_ them take these mages. Something bigger is at play here and we cannot allow the mages to fall prey to whatever Alexius has planned.”

“And yet some of us want to _sit_ and do _nothing._ ” Leliana frowns at Cullen. “Not this again—” Josephine groans.

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Fereldan. It has repelled _thousands_ of assaults. If you go in there you’ll _die_ , and we’ll lose the only means of closing these rifts.” Cullen glares at Roselyn. “I won’t allow it.”

Roselyn returns his glare with an icy gaze of her own.

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages, _and_ we leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.” Leliana cuts in, frowning in frustration.

“Even if we _could_ assault the keep, it would be for naught. An _Orlesian_ Inquisition’s army marching into Fereldan, would provoke a war.” Josephine shakes her head. “Our hands are tied.”

“Josephine, I’m surprised that you would rather us just sit and do nothing.” Roselyn raises an eyebrow.

“The magister—” Cassandra begins to argue. “Has outplayed us.” Cullen cuts her off.

“There has to be some other way inside Redcliffe Castle than through the front door.” Roselyn puts a hand to her mouth in concentration while looking down at the maps and drawings of Redcliffe Castle. “There has to be something we can do. Other than the main gate, there has to be another way into the castle.” Roselyn looks up at them and repeats herself. “A sewer? A watercourse? Something.” She frowns in concentration.

“There’s nothing I know that would work.” Cullen frowns.

“Wait.” Leliana breathes, her eyes going wide. “There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through. This is the same route that the Hero of Ferelden and I used during the blight.”

“Too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.” Cullen shakes his head.

“That’s why,” Leliana looks down at the maps and then up to Roselyn. “We need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy that Alexius wants so badly.” A tiny smirk tugs on the corners of Leliana’s lips.

“I can be distracting.” Roselyn chuckles darkly.

“While they’re focused on Trevelyan, we break the magister’s defenses… It could work but it’s a huge risk.” Cullen pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at Roselyn with his soft amber gaze.

“Fortunately! You’ll have help.” A familiar Tevinter accent bursts into the room, the door slamming open.

Roselyn spins around and sees Dorian and has to stop herself from laughing in disbelief. The man had an interesting sense of timing.

“This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.” An anxious soldier appears behind Dorian, his brow wrinkled in fear.

Cullen stares at Dorian with raised eyebrows, Josephine’s jaw drops, and Leliana maintains her cool outer exterior.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help. So, if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.” Dorian smirks.

“How long were you standing outside the door before you burst in here?” Roselyn laughs in disbelief.

“Long enough to know when to make a dramatic entrance!” He winks.

“The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t in good conscience order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bate. It’s up to you.” Cullen sighs in defeat, looking at Roselyn.

* * *

Roselyn walks out of the Chantry and shields her eyes from the bright light of the sun. It was high noon and a seldom seen clear blue-sky day that reminded her of the cornflowers that grew in the late spring on her family’s estate. Often times as a girl, she would drag her brothers out to the fields.

_Marlowe runs ahead of her, screeching, as she chases after him. They run past the familiar gates to the Trevelyan Estate, his shoes echoing against the cobbled stone. His silvery blonde hair had grown longer, almost chin length now._

_“Bet you can’t catch me Lynnie!” Marlowe’s gray eyes sparkle with mischief._

_“Wanna bet?!” She screeches as she runs after him._

_“You guys! Slow down… Lynnie if you ruin your dress again mother is going to yell at you!” Maxwell whines, running after his siblings._

_“Who cares, Max?! It’s just a stupid dress.” Marlowe cackles._

_During this memory, Maxwell had just turned fifteen and often took on the role of mother to watch over his younger siblings when they decided to ditch their governess. Marlowe was eleven and full of mischief, a head shorter than their older brother. Roselyn was only eight, the shortest out of all three of them, her long platinum locks half tied up in a series of complicated braids that would surely fall out by the time the sun would set. She had only come into her magic less than a year ago and had been doing well to hide it from her brothers._

_Roselyn continues to chase Marlowe out into the fields surrounding the estate, the wildflowers had grown tall, and the cornflowers reflected the intense blue of the Ostwick skies. Her skirt gets caught and on a thorny bush, and when she pulls it away, she hears the tearing sound of fabric. Maxwell groans._

_Roselyn laughs and takes her skirts, tying them around her waist so that she would meet far less resistance. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Maxwell plop down amongst the flowers and begins absently tearing them out of the ground as he watches his siblings. They continue like this until the familiar voice of their governess halts them to a quick stop. Their heads whip around to see the familiar small woman with flaming red hair and freckles yell after them to come back inside. Together, Roselyn and Marlowe groan in unison and Maxwell chuckles. He stands up, brushing the random pieces of grass and flowers off of his pants, but otherwise clean. He holds up a cornflower crown._

_“Oh Marlowe, I think Max made you a hat!” Roselyn giggles._

_“Ungh no way am I wearing that.” Marlowe groans._

_Max sighs out a laugh, his own mahogany hair tinted red in the setting sun. He bends down and places the crown on Roselyn’s head, and she giggles as she looks up into his deep black eyes that were crinkling at the corners as he smiles softly down at her._

“Lady Trevelyan?” A familiar voice tears Roselyn out of her memories.

Roselyn blinks and glances over to where the voice is coming from. She sees Cullen standing beside her, his brow crinkled in worry as he stares at her with his honey eyed stare.

“What?” She tries to say with a shaky laugh.

Cullen frowns at her, but the look of concern remains.

Roselyn brings a hand to her cheek in embarrassment as he continues staring at her, and she feels a wetness that had streaked across the cool skin of her cheek. She blinks and looks down at her fingers.

“You’re crying.” He says quietly.

* * *

“Get a grip on yourself.” Roselyn’s hand runs through her hair as she stares absently into her cabin.

She hadn’t thought of that memory in a very long time, she realizes.

As she stares unseeingly into her cabin, she feels tears collect in the corner of her eyes. She wishes she could shake the memory of her brother looking down at her. She wishes she couldn’t count the freckles against his tanned skin. She wishes she didn’t have to remember the sound of his voice, soft and caring. She wishes she didn’t have to remember the way he would toss her over his shoulder when she was being stubborn.

Her throat feels so tight, she feels like soon she won’t be able to breathe.

It had only been a few short weeks since she had received the news from Josephine. She still had the letter, sitting on the dresser in her small, cold cabin. Every night she had carefully opened the letter, reading the carefully penned words from her mother in the dark as she lay in her bedroll, trying to conceal the sound of her sobs so that she wouldn’t wake their camp. She tried to only do this when Cassandra was on watch, so that she didn’t have to worry about waking her.

It was the only letter she had ever received from her mother.

_Roselyn’s robes emulated the fashion of the Ostwick robes. It was summer and during the summers it was in fashion to wear lighter dresses that flowed and swished easily with movement. Roselyn and Lydia wore matching dark silver robes, with glittering silver moons and stars that were stitched with care onto their skirts and sleeves. It made them easy to spot amongst the Chantry hierarchy and the collection of nobles attending the gathering._

_Roselyn knows that this gathering was important for the politics of the Circle, as it closely intertwined with the Chantry politics of the Free Marches. It was an honor to be able to attend with First Enchanter Lydia, but Roselyn was no fool. She knows the weight that her family name carries in these circles. Even though she may never hold lands, nor marry, the family name that still managed to tie itself to her would still play an important role in her life, even if her own family wished it not to be true._

_Lydia had left Roselyn for a moment so that she may speak with a Chantry Mother alone, and Roselyn found herself being stared at by the collection of nobles surrounding her. She smiles politely, but not too brightly, in an attempt to make them feel more comfortable around her._

_“Roselyn?” She hears a familiar voice say._

_Roselyn spins around, the lightweight skirts of her robes twirling with her as she does so and sees her family. Her family. The same family she had not seen in five years. The same family she had not heard from in five years, despite her hundreds of letters._

_She sees her mother, wearing a high-necked emerald gown, the collar made of a brilliant, delicate lace, that flowered over her shoulders and was stitched into the bodice her gown. Her mother’s hair was braided up in a series of complicated braids that wrested atop her head as a mahogany crown, that now had a few more streaks of silver, showing off her golden-brown skin. Her face looked the same, except for a few more lines. Her eyes were wide eyed with horror at the scene before her, her black eyes transfixing on Roselyn._

_Her father stands beside her, his platinum blonde hair now completely turned silver, that now rested on his shoulder. His suite, the same shade of emerald that her mother wore. Trevelyan Green, her brothers and her had named it, as it was ever present in their coat of arms. His silver eyed gaze, wide and staring at her._

_Maxwell was standing beside a woman, slight in figure and deep olive skin, her black hair spilling over her shoulders. He stood in a simple beige colored suite, with deep warm brown details that matched his features. His mahogany hair that he had gotten from their mother was shorter than when she had seen him last, and now he had a beard that covered his tawny skin._

_Marlowe stood beside Maxwell, his features completely emulating their father, with his silver wide eyed stare. His suite matched Maxwell’s, and Roselyn stood in shock, realizing that she had never seen him wear such an outfit without him making such a fuss. He no longer looked like the boy that she had grown up with, no, he looked like an adult. A man. He looked just like their father._

_Roselyn inwardly shrinks from their piercing gazes, her chest growing tight at the sight of them. How long had she wished to see them again? How many nights had she cried, trying to remember their faces? And now here they were, staring at her, like she was some bizarre bird, brought from overseas, to be stared at._

_Her mother is the first to storm off, her emerald gown swishing as she leaves. Roselyn stares after her, open mouthed. The look of venom that spilled out of her eyes, directed at Roselyn, before she turned to leave was enough to take away the air that had been occupying her lungs. He father stares at her for a moment longer, and there is nothing more than Roselyn wants than to run into his arms and embrace the man and cling to him, as she did many times when she was a girl. But, in a moment, he turns to leave, walking after Roselyn’s storming mother. The sight of him leaving wordless was enough pain for Roselyn to imagine a silver dagger to penetrate her chest between the rib bones, stabbing deeper._

_She is then left with her brothers and this small unfamiliar woman, who looks at Roselyn with a mixture of wary and fear. For a moment she tears her deep brown eyes away from Roselyn and up at Maxwell, but Maxwell continues staring wide-eyed at Roselyn._

_“Lynnie, is that really you?” Maxwell says in disbelief._

_“Of course, it’s her, don’t you see her? She hasn’t changed **that** much.” Marlowe mutters. _

_The woman standing beside Maxwell takes a few steps back from Roselyn, putting even more space between them, and she turns and walks away, leaving the siblings. Maxwell glances between the retreating woman and Roselyn, and for a moment Roselyn swears she sees something in the corner of his eye, but she can’t tell if it’s her memory playing tricks, or if it really happened, but in the end, he retreats after the woman. He doesn’t say anything else to Roselyn and soon his figure disappears amongst the bodies surrounding them._

Roselyn feels her lip quiver as the memory fades and she’s left standing alone in the cold, still room of her cabin. She feels the hot tears from her eyes freeze down her cheeks but finally, she doesn’t care much for holding them back. Her breath hitches and she feels a sob build in her chest as she collapses onto the ground, not caring to even make it to her bed.

The last time she saw her father and brother was at that damn party, and neither of them had spoken much to her then.

_“Lynnie, is that really you?” Maxwell’s voice echoes in her head._

“Max, why did you have to be there? Why did you and father have to be at that damn Conclave?” Her voice cracks as she whispers between sobs.

“Why couldn’t it have been you Max? It could have been you saving the damn world.” The tears now flow steadily now. “Why couldn’t it have been you?!” She cries out, her throat raw.

“You would have been a lot better at this, than me.” Her voice wobbles as she stares up at the ceiling of her cabin. “You would have been so much better.” She sobs.

* * *

Cullen approaches Cassandra, who stares down the attack dummy with an anger that would have made any man shrink. In a matter of moments, she strikes it down with strength and precision that cuts entirely through the wooden base. Cassandra kicks down what was left of the attack dummy in frustration, grunting while doing so.

“Cassandra.” Cullen calls out to her calmly, not wanting to surprise her.

“Ah, Cullen.” Cassandra turns to look at him.

“We need stronger targets it seems.” Cullen gestures to the dummy on the ground.

“ _That_ would be nice.” Cassandra rolls her eyes and scoffs. “How can I help?”

“I was curious about the Herald.” Cullen stands beside her, scanning over the field of soldiers who were running one on one drills with one another, Rylan leading the drills.

“What about her?” Cullen sees Cassandra turn to look at him questioningly.

“Before you left, she had received… News from her family.” Cullen coughs.

“Correct.” Cassandra sighs and looks down before sheathing her sword. “She is doing her best, but I worry for her. She has done well to keep her grief a secret, but her façade has been very easy to see through. Even for me. She is under immense pressure, as we all are, and I am beginning to fear for her… mental state.” Cassandra glances at Cullen.

“Her mental state?” Cullen raises an eyebrow.

“She has nightmares every night, and more than once she awoke screaming. I’m not even sure she realized she was doing it… And there were times when I would look at her as we travelled, and she looked like she was in a completely different world, Cullen.” Cassandra sighs again. “I worry about the future, if she cannot control her emotions…”

The nightmares Cullen realized, was something they had in common.

“Well… She did just learn of the deaths of her father and brother, did she not?” Cullen swallows, looking down.

“It’s not just that. I did not write a report as I wished for it to be a discussion, but we met another mage while in Redcliffe. A mage from the Ostwick Circle. She briefly recounted the Circle’s collapse and… I worry this all could prove too much for one person to bear.” Cassandra stares blankly ahead. “I worry as to what might happen if we push her too much… Too hard.”

“You worry that she might… lose control, you mean.” Cullen bites the inside of his cheek.

“We will watch her. For now... She is not exhibiting too many warning signs, and besides the incident in the Hinterlands with the Templars, she has proven herself to be competent and in complete control. We should try not to forget this in the future. We are all under immense pressure and stress, and we should not forget that she is also a person, though easy it may be with the title of _Herald of Andraste._ ” Cassandra shakes her head.

Cullen hums in agreement.


	16. Elderflowers and Oakmoss

Roselyn wakes up covered in cool sweat that runs down her back. She looks around frantically, searching frantically in the darkness. She sees the walls of the empty cabin that she had become familiar with since joining the Inquisition, it was the cabin that they had let her take residence. Since she was only in Haven for such short periods of time, they had also used it for storage. The familiar miscellaneous crates and the sight of her staff leaning against the dresser finally calmed her down enough for her to realize it was just a dream. She reaches a shaking cold hand to her face and tries her best to wipe the sweat from her face.

“Fuck.” She whispers in the dark before burying her head in her hands.

She knows that she will not be able to sleep tonight, even if she tried. It had been weeks since she had been informed of her father and brother’s deaths, yet she was still having trouble sleeping. She would have to speak with Adan.

So, she slips on a warm pair of boots lined with soft brown fur and wraps her warmest cloak around her before exiting the cabin. After she shuts the door to her cabin, she realizes the stifling quiet around her that had settled over Haven like a heavy blanket. So quiet, that the only sound she could hear was the sound of the snow crunching under her boots and the faint whistle of wind around the mountains. For a moment, she wonders if the mere sound of crunching snow would be enough to wake the village.

She has no idea where she’s going, so instead she just walks. The cold air shocking to her throat and lungs, making her feel more awake than before. After some time in absent mindedly wandering past the gates of Haven, she finds herself standing out on a dock overlooking the large lake that lies just outside of Haven. She stares out at the mountains, up at the night sky, before tugging her cloak closer to her before she sits on the old wood.

She just wants a few hours of peace before she leaves for Redcliffe again. She imagines a quiet life of not being Roselyn Trevelyan, one where she were able to grow up in a small, secluded village like Haven. A life where she never had to worry about being dragged to the Circle. A life where no one knew or cared who she was. Maybe she would live in a small fishing village close to the sea in the Free Marches. Maybe she would be a fisherman’s daughter, her only fears being the treacherous waves and storms, instead of the people in this world wanting for chaos and destruction.

“It’s going to be a nice day.” A familiar voice breaks her of her thoughts, she quickly spins around and finds Cullen standing where the dock meets the earth.

He stands there behind her wearing simple clothes, not the armor that she had never seen him without, but the cloak he had wrapped around his broad shoulders was the same. His hair fell in loose curls atop of his head, and under his eyes were the deep purple bags of sleep deprivation. She meets his tired gaze with a tired look of her own.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, she hears his footsteps drawing near as she turns away from him, echoing against the dock.

“I just wanted to watch the sunrise.” She says nonchalantly.

“Sunrise isn’t for another three hours or so.” She hears him chuckle.

He settles beside her on the dock, staring out across the frozen waters of the lake. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him fold his ungloved hands in his lap as he sighs. Roselyn glances down at her own hands, her left hand faintly glowing a sickly green color from her palm.

“Does it hurt?” Cullen glances down at her hands.

“Not anymore.” Roselyn sighs. “Before we stabilized The Breach...” She doesn’t finish her sentence.

Cullen hums in response.

They fall back into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Roselyn takes the opportunity to lean back and turn her gaze to the stars, resting her hands against the wooden dock. The night was clear, with no clouds in sight to hide the stars from the earth below.

“You didn’t like that I went to meet with the mages.” She states, still looking up at the night sky. “And now we’re going to Redcliffe again.”

She sees his amber gaze settle on her out of the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t say anything in response.

“Do you have a problem with me, now?” She maintains an expressionless look as she refuses to look at him.

“No.” He continues watching her. “I may not always agree with you, but I personally do not have any issues with you.” He sighs, his face softening.

“Even though I’m a mage?” She finally turns her gaze toward him, finding his honey eyed gaze burning through her like a fire.

“I’ve seen the suffering magic can inflict. I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it – at times without cause. That was unworthy of me.” He says softly. “I’ll try not to do so here or with you.” He looks down at his own hands with his palms turning up, guilt spread across his face.

“I’ve seen the suffering that a sword in the wrong hand can inflict. People often talk about mages like we aren’t even people, nor are deserving to be treated as such because of our magic. But it is a tool like no other, a tool that can be used for destruction, and destruction like no other.” Roselyn says. “But men have gone to war and have killed thousands with just swords and words, yet we do not have a problem with them returning to their families after they’ve been corrupted by the poison of war. If a man, lashes out and kills his entire family in a fit of rage or confusion, we do not blame all men with swords, we just blame the one man.” Roselyn continues watching Cullen.

“The fact of the matter is people are cruel. People who are mages, people who are not, yet I find more people are more willing to blame a mage for the failings of another mage, than they are willing to blame a man for the failings of another man.” She adds.

“In another life, I probably would have disagreed with you.” Cullen glances at her. “But you also know it’s not that simple. The amount of damage… one mage can inflict…”

“Nothing is ever simple.” She sighs.

“That much is true.” He shrugs.

They sit there, looking into each other’s eyes for a few passing moments, his gaze sticking to her and holding her, like honey. She takes the moment to look at him, and really look at him. She notices the spring of curls that were threatening to emerge in certain areas, just like they had when they first met. She notices the crooked bump on his nose, probably from where he broke it at some point in his life. She notices the scar that traces over his lips that briefly kisses his chin under his stubble. She notices the fine lines that etch across his skin, permanently staining him with a look of worry. She notices him tracing the outlines of her face, just as she had just traced his.

She looks away suddenly, feeling warmth creep across her cheeks. Cullen suddenly clears his throat, and she sees him reach up with one hand to place on the back of his neck as his own heat reddens his skin.

“I should probably be going.” She says quietly.

“So, you’re not here to watch the sunrise then.” She hears him chuckle awkwardly.

“Well, you know… We’re leaving at dawn for Redcliffe and I still haven’t managed to pack my bag.” Roselyn cracks a small smile and looks back at him.

“Yes well, Cassandra will be very displeased if you make her wait again.” He smiles back at her.

“We can’t have that. I don’t need to become her next practice dummy.” Roselyn smirks.

“No, we would prefer you living.” Cullen snorts.

“Ah yes, _the only method of closing the Breach_.” She scoffs, deepening her voice and doing her best impression of a Fereldan accent, quoting him from earlier.

“I would prefer if you didn’t die. Not just because of the mark.” Cullen chuckles, “And I don’t sound like that.” 

“That may just be sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She looks up at him, the corners of her mouth ticking up in a smirk.

“Yes well…” He coughs awkwardly, “We hadn’t talked much before now, I guess.”

She didn’t realize how close they were until they were standing almost chest to chest, shoulder to shoulder. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, an almost welcome feeling that helped her feel less cold. At this distance, she realizes she could also smell him. Something about his scent was a little different than what she remembered.

He smelled faintly of elderflower and oakmoss.

The scent overwhelms her, consuming her. She knows she has smelled it before, but she is unsure as to where, but it tugs at the edges of her mind that she knows will annoy her for days, possibly even weeks, until she remembers where she’s smelled the scent before.

* * *

Roselyn crosses the stone threshold of Redcliffe’s Castle with Cassandra and Varric. The journey had been long and grating, and to be honest, Roselyn wasn’t exactly sure what she had been expecting when she knocked on the Tevinter Magister’s stolen doorstep. Upon their arrival, they are greeted by a guard dressed in an armor that was in Tevinter fashion. The guard stares at Roselyn and her travelling companions, narrowing his eyes.

“Announce us.” She frowns at the guard.

“The Magister’s invitation was for Lady Trevelyan only. The others will have to remain here.” The guard knits his eyebrows together.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to negotiate with me.” Roselyn raises one of her eyebrows, trying to look unamused.

The guard frowns, but eventually relents.

Together they are lead through the halls of the castle, an eerie silence settling over the old stones. For a moment, Cullen’s voice rings through her head. “ _Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Fereldan. It has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means of closing these rifts_.” How much blood has spilled on these old stones? Roselyn only glances back at her allies once, but never again once she notices the unsettling gaze of the numerous Venatori guard. She hopes that Dorian and the Inquisition agents had made it through alright, because things could turn very sour very quickly with these stony eyed stares.

“My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.” The Venatori guard guiding Roselyn and her companions announces once they reach the throne room.

Alexius sits on the throne, his son dutifully standing beside him. Roselyn catches Felix’s eye and for a moment she thinks she sees a sparkle of understanding in his. It could have been the dimly lit room playing tricks on her eyes of course.

“My friend! It is good to see you again… And your _associates,_ of course.” Alexius maintains a steel exterior, holding his arms out in greeting. “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

Out of the corner of Roselyn’s eye she sees Fiona, standing tall and defiant in her robes, her gray eyes sparkling dangerously in the firelight. Roselyn had never met the Grand Enchanter before Redcliffe, but she was sure that she was a force certainly to behold leading the Circles.

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Fiona steps forward, holding her head high and her brow stern.

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.” Alexius’ eyes twinkle as he looks back at her.

“ _Of course_ , she trusts you, Alexius. You just have one of those faces that oozes trust.” Roselyn laughs dryly.

She was looking for a reaction. Anything really. She wanted to keep him on his toes around her, she would not be the obedient southern mage that he was going to expect her to be, no. She would poke and prod, anything to get him to drop his façade if only for a moment.

“Yes, the Magisterium tells me that so often. Shall we begin?” The corners of Alexius’ mouth twitch into the smallest smirk. “The Inquisition needs mages to close The Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?” Alexius turns his back to them.

“Nothing at all. I’m just going to take the mages and leave.” A small smirk tugs at her lips. 

“And how do you imagine you’ll accomplish such a feat?” Alexius turns back to Roselyn.

Alexius remains stiff in his façade, and they stare at each other for a moment. She had to proceed carefully, but the Inquisition needed as much information that Roselyn was able to obtain about the magister. Before Roselyn had left for Redcliffe, she had sat down for several hours with Leliana and Iron Bull, regarding what to look for in the magister’s mannerisms. It was always the smallest things that gave them the clearest picture, Bull had explained. A smirk. A twinkle of the eye. The way they hold themselves when walking through the room.

“I know you invited me here to kill me, Alexius.” Roselyn takes a step closer to him, her voice remaining calm.

“If you believe that, I marvel that you chose to come anyway.” Alexius feigns surprise.

“They know everything, father.” Felix speaks up.

“Felix, what have you done?” For the first time, a genuine emotion washes over Alexius’ face. Roselyn recognized it immediately. Fear.

“We made sure to disarm your traps before we came in.” Roselyn clasps her hands behind her back and makes another step toward Alexius. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I have yet to see your cleverness, I’m afraid.” Alexius glares. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark— a gift you don’t even understand – and you think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake.” He says with venom, his practiced exterior quickly deteriorating before her very eyes.

“Have you been speaking with Owen and Eleanor Trevelyan? Odd, you sound just like them. Well, just the ‘you’re nothing but a mistake part’.” Roselyn hears Varric snort behind her.

“You are unworthy.” Alexius narrows his eyes. “To even stand in the Elder One’s presence.”

“I would love to hear more about this Elder One. Could you introduce us?” Roselyn quips once more, earning her a fiery look from Alexius.

She knew it was dangerous, bating him like this. But she also knew that she needed information. Information that would not be handed out so freely with a level head. She needed to keep poking and prodding. Already she had received tiny crumbs of information. _You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark— a gift you don’t even understand. You’re nothing but a mistake._ Roselyn and the Inquisition had already come to the conclusion that this was a misfired spell. A ritual gone wrong, and somehow with her luck she had gotten in the middle of it. But Alexius’ mention of ‘ _The Elder One_ ’, certainly caught Roselyn’s attention.

“Father listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?” Felix pleads.

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone _expects_ us to be.” Dorian swaggers out from behind a pillar, holding his palms up as he saunters over.

Dorian was the pictures of confidence as he stood behind Roselyn. He wore extravagant robes made of fine silks and for a moment she finds herself wondering how he was able to keep them so clean from his travels. The fine silver silks contrasted against his warm brown skin, almost glowing in the firelight.

“Dorian. I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. _The Elder One_ has power you would not imagine. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.” Alexius raises his voice now.

“Blah, blah. ‘ _My cult is better than yours_.’ I’ve heard it a thousand times.” Roselyn sighs.

“Well, you know, it’s a chance for the Imperium to really one-up that whole ‘Starting the Blight’ thing.” Dorian glances at her with an amused look while walking closer to Roselyn and Alexius.

“He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.” Alexius’ voice echoes through the chamber, his eyes flashing danger. 

“You cannot involve my people in this!” Fiona gasps in horror.

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?” Dorian cocks his head to the side.

“Stop it father! Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight The Breach, and let’s go home.” Felix frowns.

“No! It’s the only way, Felix. He can _save_ you!” Alexius spins around to face his son.

“Save me?” Felix blinks, backing away from Alexius.

“There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the _mistake_ at the Temple…” Alexius moves towards Felix, reaching for his arm. Felix rips his arm out of his father’s grasp.

“I’m going to die. You need to accept that.” Felix frowns.

“Seize them, Venatori! _The Elder One demands this woman’s life_!” Alexius cries out in a blind rage.

An eerie stillness surrounds them, suffocates them. Roselyn watches Alexius’ eyes go wide as he stares just past her. Roselyn turns her head and sees a familiar elven woman with flaming red hair run a bloody rag along the edges of her blade, the dead body of the Venatori agent lying still at her feet. Roselyn glances around and notices the dead bodies of several Venatori agents leaking out against the cold stone floors.

“Your men are _dead_ , Alexius.” Roselyn says quietly, turning her head back to Alexius and takes a forward moving step towards the Magister, her eyes determined and flashing.

“ _You… Are a mistake! You never should have existed_!” Alexius cries out, his face turning red in rage.

A blinding green light fills the room, drenching them in its veridian hue. Alexius holds up an amulet, and with his hand movement Roselyn feels the room shift beneath her. She feels it, pushing and pulling at tiny bits of the fade all around her, making the air feel fuzzy and causing an ache in the back of her skull. She feels bits of the fade fracture around her, like when light hits the water and the feeling is too much, flooding, falling, like fighting.

“No!” Dorian cries out, he conjures a spell amidst the fuzzy fractural fade.

The blinding green light grows louder, drowning out all sensations, saving the ache in the back of her skull. It feels like all of the air leaves her lungs for a moment and then is replaced by the heaviness of the empty void. And then it feels like falling.

_Falling._

_She realizes she’s falling, shards of glass following her as she plummets back into the embraces of the sea that surrounds her tower. Surely, I will die, she thinks. Surely my body will break against the jagged rocks below and the last thing I will see is the sky. With silver eyes wide and in moments passing she thinks she can count every star, just like she would as a child. One by one she would name and cherish each star, giving it a story, a wonderful tale, a beautiful lie._

_But her back doesn’t break against the jagged rocks._

_The electrifying sting of cold water and falling from such heights causes a shock through her entire body and she sinks below the surface of the black water. She is pulled under, her body sulking, sinking against the weight. She should scream, she realizes. That’s what normal people would do._

_For now, she is fine with sinking._

Her head feels hazy and heavy, the dull pain still aching in the back of her head, but now there is a strange feeling that pulls on her skin and makes it hard to breathe again. She opens her eyes and suddenly she is hit with the damp coolness of the underground air that stings tears into her eyes. She is able to push herself up and goes wide eyed as she sees two Venatori agents standing only a few feet away.

“Blood of the Elder One!” The first one cries out in shock.

Roselyn scrambles to her feet and holds her hands up defensively. She didn’t have her staff, weapons had been confiscated before their entrance to the castle, so for now this would have to do.

“Where did they come from?” The other guard yells as they charge forward, their iron blades trained on them.

Roselyn settles a barrier over them, in preparation for the blow, she feels the ebb and flow of the fade as Dorian pulls at the strings, taking them and pushing them through the physical. He sets both of the Venatori agents on fire, their screams echoing against the cold damp stone around them before they go silent.

“Displacement? Interesting! It’s probably not what Alexius intended… The rift must have moved us… to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?” Dorian turns toward her, his eyebrows raised in wonder.

“The last thing I remember…” Roselyn knits her brows in concentration, trying to recall the events that lead them to their precarious position. “We were in the castle hall.”

“Let’s see. If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t… Oh! Of course! It’s not simply where – it’s when! Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!” Dorian’s eyes widen and a look of shock spreads across his face as he lets out a small laugh in disbelief.

“That… doesn’t sound good.” Roselyn eyes widen. She remembers the sick feeling pulling at the back of her skull. It was the same feeling she had felt closing the rifts near Redcliffe.

“It sounds terrible, depending on when we are and what happened while we were away.” Dorian purses his lips, “Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

“What was Alexius trying to do?” Roselyn glances down at her glowing hand before snapping her head back up.

“I believe his original plan was to remove you from time completely. If that happened, you would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes or mangled the Elder One’s plan. I think your surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tosses us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and where we are. Make sense?” Dorian cocks his head to the side.

“It just seems so insane. In all my studies, I have never heard of this sort of magic ever succeeding… Perhaps the Breach…” Roselyn wonders aloud.

“I don’t even want to _think_ about what this will do to the fabric of the world. We didn’t ‘travel’ through time so much as punch a hole through it and toss it in the privy. But don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll protect you.” Dorian smirks, holding his head high.

“Then let’s go.” Roselyn rolls her eyes at him.

“I’m right behind you.” Dorian nods back, offering a genuine smile.

* * *

“Varric… You… don’t look so good.” Roselyn stares at him wide eyed.

Roselyn and Dorian had managed to find their way to the additional cells below Redcliffe Castle. Roselyn had heard the faint sound of a tavern song being hummed echo against the stones, and together they followed the sound only to find Varric, chained in a cell. His skin was yellowed and waxy, his dirtied clothes hanging loosely over his figure.

“Sparky, is that really you?” When Varric looks up at them, Roselyn can’t help but notice his bloodshot eyes that seemed to glow an angry carmine color.

The shade, familiar. It was the same color coming from the shards of Red Lyrium that they had found at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, or rather, what was left of it. At the time, it was the first time Varric had sounded genuinely shaken, even during the face of demons falling out of the sky.

“In the flesh.” Roselyn couldn't help but smile weakly at the nickname, but finds her smile disappearing quickly.

She kneels outside of his cell, trying to find a way to unlock it.

“It’s been… I’m not sure how long it’s been. We thought you died. Where were you?” Varric’s hollow voice sounds far off, like he was in some other world. A world, Roselyn was sure, that was not a happy one.

“We’re here now.” She says softly. “We’re going to try and fix this, we have to.”

“We have to find Alexius, if we do, I may be able to send us back to our own time. Simple, really.” Dorian chuckles dryly.

“You want to take on Alexius? I’m with you. He says, a certain sadness crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Step back, Roselyn. I know something that will work.” Dorian orders before aiming his staff directly at the lock of Varric’s cell.

* * *

“The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next. For she who trusts the Maker, fire is her water.” A familiar voice repeats itself again and again. Roselyn knows the voice and the verse very well.

Roselyn approaches the cell, walking closer to see Cassandra’s face. She was sitting with her back to the corner of the cell, facing up to the ceiling, as if she were speaking directly to the Maker himself, or perhaps pleading with Andraste.

“You’ve returned? Can it be? Has Andraste given us a second chance I— Maker forgive me. _I failed you_. I failed _everyone_. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.” Cassandra’s bloodshot hazel eyes snap over to Roselyn’s direction. A familiar angry red glow emanating from her as well. Cassandra’s olive toned skin was pale and Roselyn saw the broken blood vessels in Cassandra’s face as she stares up at Roselyn.

“I’m not dead, I mean… I didn’t die Cassandra. Alexius’ magic sent us forward in time.” Roselyn frowns.

Varric begins tinkering with the lock to Cassandra’s cell.

“I was there— The magister obliterated you with a gesture.” Cassandra’s eyes grow wide at the memory before she looks down once more, a look of despair washing over her. “There was nothing left of you but ash on the floor.”

“Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we may be able reverse the spell that brought us here and return to the present. Our present.” Dorian repeats Roselyn, trying to help Cassandra understand.

“Go back in time? Then… you can make it so none of this ever happens?” Cassandra’s eyes fall on Varric who manages to open Cassandra’s cell.

“I’ll try. That’s the plan anyway.” Roselyn smiles weakly, trying to reassure her.

“Alexius’ master… After you died, we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards – it was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. Nothing.” Cassandra’s voice cracks at the end and she looks away from them.

Roselyn is shocked by the display of emotion coming from Cassandra. Sure, she had always noticed that Cassandra was relatively easy to read, wearing her emotions on her sleeve. Rarely did Roselyn ever see this side of Cassandra. She always seemed so strong willed, determined. Seeing her so… broken made the knot in the pit of her stomach grow larger.

“Cassandra—” Varric offers his hand to Cassandra to help her get up from the ground. His face was soft and not antagonistic in the least.   
  
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have—” Roselyn feels the guilt build in her chest.

“You’re here now.” Cassandra reaches her hand to Roselyn’s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance.

* * *

“Kill them!” A voice cries out.

Venatori spill into their path, their sneering glances and sharp glares enough to cut a man. Dorian and Roselyn take the front, since both Varric and Cassandra were without any weapons. Roselyn settles a barrier over them and begins calculating her next move. Dorian summons a wall of fire, separating them from the Venatori. Without a staff to focus her magic, Roselyn wondered how much help she really could be.

Roselyn focuses on the feeling of the fade around her, pushing and pulling on even the smallest pieces hoping that it would be enough.

Dorian casts spells with a flare of someone beginning an intricate dance, summing glyphs that appear on the ground in the path of the oncoming Venatori. Roselyn knits her brows in concentration; she feels a bead of sweat drip down the side of her face.

And then her vision disappears in a blinding white light, a loud crack deafening her. When she is able to regain some semblance of her vision, she looks down and sees a Venatori agent, writhing with the scent of burning flesh. His face, replaying the evidence of a burn that Roselyn was sure was from the lightening spell she had just tried casting. Roselyn kicks the sword from his grip into Cassandra’s direction. For a moment, she sees a small smile return to Cassandra’s cracked lips as she bends down, wrapping her fingers against the metal grip.

In the distance, Roselyn hears someone cry out. Cassandra charges toward the remaining Venatori, with Dorian remaining preoccupied with a Venatori mage. Between the two of them, a number of fire spells bounce off of the walls of the chamber and Roselyn begins concentrating on pulling at the fade around her. All of this would have been much simpler if she had her staff. One spell took much longer to conjure, forcing her to concentrate at the task at hand, rather than losing herself in the familiar steps.

Battle magic was never meant to be cast without a staff. A staff worked as a focus for their magic, helping them stabilize their spells. Without her staff, Roselyn felt like a target, unable to conjure spells that she had mastered within her first year at the Circle.

Suddenly, she has an idea.

She takes a few steps forward, then fade stepping into the direction of the Venatori Mage. She manages to hook her leg in front of the mage as she turns her body so that she is directly behind him, still hooking her leg around his and throwing him off of his balance. The mage cries out in surprise at the sudden upset in equilibrium.

“Dorian!” She cries out before using her body weight to slam into the mage from behind with her leg wrapped in front of his, causing them to trip forward stumbling.

She sees Dorian smirk before he casts another spell, causing the mage to freeze midair as he falls. When his frozen body crashes against the stones, there is a sickening crack as he shatters at Roselyn’s feet. She scrambles to pick up the mage’s abandoned staff. It wasn’t hers, but it would have to do.

When they finish, Roselyn finds herself out of breath, but relieved.

“We need to find Cullen and Leliana.” Cassandra’s voice calls out behind Roselyn. Roselyn spins around and stares blankly at Cassandra.

“Curly and Nightingale are in the castle somewhere.” Varric confirms.

“What… Happened? How?” Roselyn blinks.

“I heard some guards talking during a shift change a couple weeks after you die— erm, disappeared. Curly and Nightingale brought the troops to Redcliffe and there was an attack. I heard they both had been captured but nothing else after…” Varric frowns.

“They have to be here somewhere.” Cassandra confirmed. “They may be able to help.”

“Strength in numbers. Brilliant!” Dorian says before walking forward.

They had attacked the castle to retrieve them, and Roselyn had inadvertently caused their capture. The knot in her stomach that had been growing suddenly caused her to feel sick. Maker only knows what everyone had been put through because of her decision. Because of her actions. Perhaps if she hadn’t pushed Alexius so hard? Maker, she was starting to wish that she had never made the decision to come here at all. She continues walking forward, her eyes trained on the path before them, there was no way out of this mess except to continue moving forward.

* * *

“How did Trevelyan know of the sacrifice at the temple? Answer!” Roselyn hears a gruff voice snarl in the distance. 

“Never!” Leliana’s familiar voice cries out in defiance.

Roselyn begins to quicken her pace as quietly as she can at the sound of Leliana’s voice echo throughout the stone halls. Before they are able to reach the source, a sickening sound of flesh hitting skin is heard. They can hear Leliana cry out in pain. The sound shakes her for a moment.

“There is no use to this defiance, little bird. You know what will happen next? You remember what we did last time? You didn’t like that much as I recall.” The voice talking to Leliana sent a chill down Roselyn’s spine. She didn’t want to know what was going to happen next. “Don’t hurt him, he doesn’t know anything.” The disembodied voice mocks her Orlesian accent.

“You’re wasting your breath. Neither of us will ever talk.” Leliana speaks in defiance.

“You will break!” He snarls once again.

“I will _die_ first.” Roselyn hears Leliana whisper.

Roselyn burst through the door, just in time it looks like. Leliana’s torturer holds a knife to her throat as she’s suspended from the ceiling in metal restraints. When Roselyn bursts through the room, she sees him turn away from Leliana with a shocked expression etching across his lined face.

“Or you will.” Leliana says calmly before using the restraints to lift herself and quickly wrapping her legs around her torturer’s neck. He lets out a strangled gasp before dropping the knife and clawing at Leliana’s legs which only tightened around him before a sickening crack is heard. His lifeless body falls to the ground.

“You’re alive.” Leliana blinks in disbelief at Roselyn after a moment.

“That was impressive.” Roselyn breathes as she rushes forward to search for the keys to Leliana’s restraints on the lifeless body of the Venatori agent.

“Anger is stronger than any pain.” Leliana’s lifeless eyes go blank.

Roselyn takes a moment to take in Leliana’s appearance. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken in, her skin pale and almost gray looking. This looked far more than simple starvation and malnutrition, but Roselyn was too afraid of the answer to ask her, but her image haunted her.

“Do you have weapons?” Leliana asks as Roselyn unlocks her restraints, rubbing her wrists after she is freed.

Roselyn merely nods in response.

“Good. The magister is probably in his chambers, and Cullen should not be far.” Leliana bends over the Venatori agent’s body and lifts a long dagger that was sheathed at his belt.

Leliana leads the way out of the torture chamber.

“I need to find Alexius and reverse the spell.” Roselyn frowns.

“If we can get back to our present, we can prevent all of this from happening.” Dorian chimes in.

“And mages always wonder why people fear them… No one should have this power.” Leliana says lowly.

“It’s dangerous and unpredictable. Before The Breach, nothing we did—” Dorian begins before he’s cut off. “Enough! This is all pretend to you isn’t it? You think that this is some future that was never supposed to happen. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was _real._ ” Leliana cuts in. 

Roselyn can’t help but flinch at Leliana’s words. The whole world suffered because she disappeared from the world, and everyone thought she was dead. Leliana suffered. Varric suffered. Cassandra suffered. She cannot imagine the pain she had indirectly inflicted by just being absent to them during their time of need.

“Cullen should be just through these doors.” Leliana says before opening the door to the next chamber.

* * *

Roselyn stares down at Cullen, who was chained to the floor. He didn’t flinch or even make a sound to acknowledge their presence, he just continued staring down at the ground, his golden halo dampened with dirt and grime. Roselyn quietly approaches him, not wanting to disturb him or scare him with too many sudden movements.

“Cullen.” Leliana’s voice says quietly behind her, it was the softest it had been since Roselyn had found her.

“Cullen, it’s me. Roselyn.” Roselyn says quietly, drawing closer to him with keys in hand, hopefully one of them would be able to free him from his restraints. The first thing she realizes as she draws closer to him, is the absence of the scent of Elderflowers and Oakmoss, the scent she had smelled on him before she had left Haven. The next thing she notices are the deep black and purple bruises that blossomed across his skin, then the precise scars, some old and healed and some fresh and new, that were etched on his exposed skin.

He had been tortured; she realizes.

Cullen looks up slowly to meet Roselyn’s gaze, but he doesn’t look alarmed. His bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes hold hers as he stares at her unblinkingly with a look that she realizes will haunt her.

“So, the nightmares come without sleep. This is so familiar.” His voice is raspy, and his lips are bleeding and scabbed over. “It’s so funny the tricks the mind plays.”

“This isn’t a nightmare.” Roselyn frowns, tearing her eyes from his to find the right key.

“That’s also what she said last time. Ironic that this is the way that I die, plagued by these visions.” His voice is tired and weak, but he does not waver when he speaks. “Maker, I have endured your tests and trials, how much longer must I pay for my sins?” 

“We are not visions.” Dorian chimes in behind Roselyn. “We’re not dead, either. We were merely sent _forward in time_. We need to get back to our time so that we can make sure none of this happens in the first place.”

“So, it’s magic, then. It’s always magic isn’t it. First the Ferelden Circle tower, then Kirkwall. The Conclave. Now this.” Cullen mutters darkly and stiffens under Roselyn’s grasp, his voice tired and defeated.

Roselyn looks at Cullen in the eye, holding his gaze and remembering their conversation on the dock in Haven. A feeling of guilt starts in the pit of her stomach and slowly begins to bleed throughout her entire body. Roselyn looks down at Cullen’s hands and finds his hands and fingers wrapped in yellowing bandages that were crusted over with old, brown blood. She looks up and finds his bloodshot gaze resting on her face, expressionless as she unlocks his restraints.

“I’m so sorry.” She feels herself crumbling. “I failed you all.” She whispers. “I should have listened…”

“You never would have, and you destroyed this world with your defiance.” His voice was hollow, and his once warm amber eyes were dull and empty as he looked up at her. “I thought you were sent from the Maker to stop this madness, instead he sent you as another punishment. A laughter for what I endured. Of course, it would be a mage to save us all, I first thought. Now I realize it was His sense of humor once again.”

_You destroyed this world with your defiance._

Roselyn holds his gaze for a moment before reaching down and offering her hand to help him off of the ground. He grips her hand with his own but winces at the contact, she pulls him up with her and she finds it too easy to pull him up, expecting the further resistance of his weight. When they release their grip on each other, Roselyn notices his thinning frame. His shoulders still broad, but no longer filled out. His cheeks hollow and nearly sunken in.

“Cullen, I promise this is real. She is real.” Leliana’s voice breaks through their shared experience, pulling them out of each other’s gaze. “Remember the Tower? Remember how we managed to save you?”

Cullen stares through Leliana with his empty gaze before lowering his head once more, his eyes cast toward the cold stones below his feet.

“We saved you, and now we must save ourselves. We need to ensure this never becomes a reality. This is our last test from The Maker.” Leliana says softly.

* * *

They march forward to the throne room, a silence overcoming the group as they walk past the bones of long dead soldiers. Roselyn notices the coat of arms of numerous armies. Orlais, Ferelden, various Marcher cities, Antiva, and the Inquisition.

Did they all fight together, or did they all fall, one by one?

“The Inquisition was the first to fall, the rest fell one after another.” Cullen’s hoarse voice echoes against the stone around them, as if he had read her mind. “The battle didn’t even last a day… the damage was devastating.”

“You did the best you could under excruciating circumstances. You had no way of knowing what had led to our disappearance.” Cassandra grimaces.

“If we had acted sooner maybe—” Cullen begins. “Don’t do that to yourself. There was no avoiding our fate the moment we sent Trevelyan to Alexius.” Leliana cuts him off.

Roselyn wants to sink into herself. She knows they didn’t send her to Redcliffe. She chose Redcliffe. The decision had been hers. She had told them that there was no way she would seek the Templars. She was unrelenting, naïve, stubborn, and too headstrong to have listened to those who had told her it was a bad idea. Her decision had only brought them death and destruction, pain and torture. It was her who did this. Perhaps if she did not push Alexius as far as she had, maybe this could have been avoided.

There were so many what ifs.

She could only silently pray to a god she did not believe in that Dorian could reverse her mistakes.

“What became of Felix? Do you know?” Dorian finally asks, Roselyn knew the question had been on the tip of his tongue since they had found the others.

“Yes, I know.” Leliana answers quietly.

“And let me guess. You’re not going to just tell me.” Dorian sighs dejectedly.

“You’ll find out soon enough, if we succeed.” Leliana frowns, keeping her eyes trained forward.

Together they walk forth, the six of them, out of a large set of doors and out into the courtyard, or what would have been the courtyard. Roselyn stares wide eyed at the sky which glowed the same sickly green hue that emanated from her own left hand. In the glowing green sky, miscellaneous rock and parts of the castle had broken off from the main and now were suspended midair. Roselyn feels her jaw drop as she stares up.

“The Breach… It’s everywhere.” She feels herself going breathless.

“How much damage did Alexius’ spell do?” Dorian turns toward Leliana.

“Rifts tore apart southern Thedas, starting here. But if it’s his doing, or the Breach, who’s to say?” Leliana says.

“The only way of closing the rifts and the Breach died with Trevelyan.” Cullen whispers while looking up. “This was her last gift.”

“I’m not dead yet.” She murmurs in response, leading the group forward.

Roselyn pushes another large heavy door open, meeting some resistance but not enough to stop her from reaching the other side. Together, she marches forward with her companions close by her side. Alexius sits on a throne in front of a burning fireplace, beside him a ghoul like creature with sunken eyes and sunken cheeks, his skin waxy and ashen gray. Alexius stares at them with a blank expression and eyes empty of all emotion.

“No Venatori this time Alexius? Where is the trap? The guards?” Roselyn narrows her eyes as they make their way closer to him.

“There is no longer any point.” Alexius stares at them with the same expression he had painted across his face when they entered. “I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.” He laughs dryly.

“Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world, to yourself?” Dorian asks angrily.

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end. Until then, little I will do now will matter.” Alexius’ voice sounded as lifeless as his eyes.

“It _does_ matter. We will undo this. All of it.” Roselyn frowns before glancing sideways at her companions.

“How many times have I tried? The past cannot be undone.” Alexius merely shrugs. “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes: for me, for you, for us all.”

While Roselyn and Alexius talk, out of the corner of her eye she notices Leliana coming up from behind the strange ghoul like creature. With one hand she pulls it by the collar, a knife pressing to its throat.

“Felix!” Alexius cries out. This was the first display of emotion they had seen Alexius display since their entrance into the throne room. “That’s _Felix_? Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?” Dorian looks horrified at the creature before them.

“He would have died, Dorian! I _saved_ him.” Alexius cries out.

“That is not living.” Cullen says quietly while standing beside Roselyn.

“Please, don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.” Alexius pleads to Leliana. “Hand over the amulet, and we let him go.” Roselyn takes a step toward Alexius, her palm stretched out for the amulet.

“Let him go, and I swear to you— you’ll get what you want.” Alexius pleads. “I want my life back. I want my loved ones back. I want the _world_ back. And you took that all from me. Your son dies regardless Alexius. Everything you’ve done has been for _nothing._ ” Leliana speaks with pure venom dripping from her voice before she finally tears the sharp blade over the withered throat of Felix, a pool of deep crimson forming on the ground below, looking almost black.

“No! No!!!” Alexius screams before shooting a spell in Leliana’s direction, striking her in the chest.

She crumples on the stone, her lifeless body staring up at the ceiling with glassy blue eyes that stared up into nothing. Roselyn hears Cassandra cry out as she and Cullen rush forward to her lifeless body.

“So much for the mighty Inquisition.” Alexius cries out before sending more spells into Cassandra and Cullen’s direction.

Roselyn rushes forward and settles a barrier over them, out of the corner of her eye she sees Dorian pulling at the fade, sending spells over at Alexius. Varric rushes forward with a pair of Venatori daggers that he had confiscated from a dead body earlier. Cullen and Cassandra scramble with their own stolen weapons, and dart forward towards Alexius.

They begin what feels like a never-ending dance, of pushing and pulling at the fade, manipulating and making the magic real. All the magic between herself, Dorian, and Alexius almost made Roselyn dizzy at times, almost like there were too many currents going in too many directions, each of their grips completely different.

Roselyn noticed Cassandra, Cullen, and Varric becoming out of breath, what felt like, too easily. The weariness that they all wore on their faces becoming more and more evident. At one point, Roselyn worried that Cullen would collapse after a series of blows he dealt to the demons that Alexius had pulled out of a rift. If they did not kill Alexius soon, she worried how many would fall.

“So much for the _mighty_ Inquisition!” Alexius spits as Cassandra stumbles, missing a blow that had been aimed at Alexius.

“The mighty Inquisition, indeed.” Cullen grunts before taking a few steps forward, driving his sword through Alexius’ neck. The sick sounds of Alexius gurgling on blood that was drowning him from the inside, echo through the chamber. Cullen turns back toward Roselyn and Dorian, his eyes empty of any emotion or reaction to what he had just done.

Dorian stares back at Alexius’ lifeless body bleeding out on the stones, his eyebrows knitting together.

“This Alexius was too far gone. But the Alexius in our time might still be reasoned with.” Roselyn says gently.

“I suppose that’s true.” Dorian frowns.

“How do we reverse the spell?” She asks. “This is the same amulet that he used before” Dorian says, leaning down and picking up the amulet that was grasped in Alexius’ lifeless hand. “I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour? That’s too long, you must go now.” Cassandra frowns.

Before anyone can respond, together they hear the roar of a dragon, the unfamiliar sound of its powerful screech causing the castle to shake around them, bits of loose stone and dust flies up into the air.

“The Elder One.” Cullen stares emptily ahead.

“We’ll hold the main door. Once they break through…” Varric swallows. “It’s all you, Curly.” Varric looks up at Cullen who nods in response.

“No! I won’t let you all commit suicide.” Roselyn stares wide eyed in horror.

“I died the day you disappeared. The only way we live is if this day never comes.” Cullen looks up at Roselyn and holds her with his gaze. Roselyn swallows, staring back.

“Cast your spell. I don’t know how long I will last.” With that his eyes darken, and he turns his gaze away from Roselyn and toward both Cassandra and Varric. They all nod in exchange before Cassandra and Varric exit the chamber.

Dorian begins murmuring under his breath as he begins casting the spell. Roselyn offers her own will, to help Dorian syphon magic from her to enhance his own abilities. Outside of the doors, Roselyn hears the sound of demons being cut down by both Cassandra and Varric. She stares ahead at Cullen, who only stares ahead, his gaze unwavering from the large doors before him.

The doors slam open, a large Venatori warrior carries Cassandra’s lifeless body behind them, before they toss them half hazardously into the chamber. Roselyn stares in horror at their bodies, staring into a distance with eyes made of glass.

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame.” Cullen begins, driving his sword forward and bashing another demon with his shield. “Andraste guide me. Maker, take me to your side.” A Venatori archer shoots Cullen in the shoulder, rendering his shield arm useless. Roselyn begins to move forward, trying to summon a barrier around Cullen.

“You move, and we all die! You cannot cast any spells while I’m siphoning magic from you!” Dorian cries out, a bead of sweat forming on his temple.

Roselyn stares forward in horror as Cullen quickly becomes overtaken by demons and Venatori. She watches helplessly as a Venatori warrior rushes forward, driving their sword straight through Cullen’s chest. Roselyn hears a scream and soon realizes it was her own as she watches the blood pool out of his chest and stain his tunic. She holds his gaze with hers and watches as the light slowly leaves his eyes before there is a flash that blinds her and Dorian’s hand gripping her wrist.

* * *

“You’ll have to do better than that.” Dorian says breathlessly, staring at Alexius in the same throne room that they had just left. “You’ve failed Alexius. How forgiving is your Elder One?” Roselyn frowns deeply, still shaken at what she had just seen.

“You won. There’s no point in extending the charade… Felix…” Alexius looks toward his son.

“It’s going to be alright, Father.” Felix says softly.

“You will die.” Roselyn could see the tears forming at the corners of Alexius’ eyes. “Everyone dies.” Felix frowns.

The Inquisition agent with the flaming red hair moves forward with a pair of iron manacles and secures Alexius before leading him away. Roselyn sighs and frowns, rubbing her temples before closing her eyes.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with!” Dorian sighs exhaustedly before the sound of metal footsteps reach their ears and push the heavy doors of the throne room open. A group of nine soldiers take lead, marching into the throne room before parting, letting Queen Anora walk forward to approach Roselyn. “Or not.” Dorian whispers under his breath.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona.” Anora’s voice rings out, but she turns from Roselyn to find the slight figure of the Grand Enchanter who had been standing off to the side. “Queen Anora!” Fiona blinks.

“When I granted your mages sanctuary, I thought it was understood that they would not force my people from their homes.” Anora frowns, her gaze icy. “Your Majesty let me assure you, we never intended any of this…” Fiona knits her brows together.

“Your intentions ceased to matter when my people were threatened. I am rescinding my offer of sanctuary. You and your followers will leave Ferelden at _once_.” Anora narrows her eyes.

“But… we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?” Fiona frowns.

“I should point out that we did come here for the mages to close the Breach in the first place.” Roselyn clasps her hands behind her back, trying to maintain her steel façade.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona narrows her eyes.

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition is better than that, yes?” Dorian glances between Fiona and Roselyn. “I know you are a mage but consider how these rebels have acted. They must be conscripted, not coddled.” Roselyn hears the frown in Cassandra’s voice without even having to look at her.

“It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.” Fiona frowns. 

Of course, her first instinct as a mage was to of course offer the mages an allyship that would be mutually beneficial, but the images of Cassandra, Varric, Leliana and Cullen, dead on the stones of the very same throne room that they now stood in still freshly haunted her mind.

She had already regretted her decision to come to Redcliffe, even if it had now turned out for the better, if she were to make the wrong decision here she wondered if she would turn to regret her decision once more. But, through the pain and suffering that they had suffered through that horrible dark future, now they stood almost perfectly fine in defiance to what they had just endured. Roselyn looks at Grand Enchanter Fiona, worry seeping through the elven woman’s silver eyes as she looked onto Roselyn’s own.

If she conscripted the mages, she realizes she would be no better than the Templars that had held their leashes for so long. A leash that the Templars assured, was for their own good. She remembers all that she endured under that Templar leash. How many people were strangled with that leash. She can still hear their screams. She can still see their lifeless bodies staring back at her blankly, the ghost of their final expression wearing across their faces. If she conscripted the mages, they would be back to square one with their freedom. The mages had fought the good fight, turning away only when desperate, how desperate would they be if they sought to leave the Inquisition? What would they do to break free, once more?

“We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side.” Roselyn finally says, her words coming out weaker than she had intended.

“We’ll discuss this later.” Cassandra’s disapproving voice cuts in.

“I’ll pray that the rest of the Inquisition honors your promise, then.” Fiona glances at Cassandra before nodding at Roselyn. “The Breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now. We can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support, and I cannot, in good conscience require that against your will.” Roselyn continues, glancing sideways at Cassandra.

“Whether you accept this alliance or not, you will leave my kingdom.” Anora frowns.

“We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.” Fiona offers a weak smile before she nods to Roselyn once more.

“Good. Now, Cassandra, there is much we need to discuss.” Roselyn turns away from the Grand Enchanter and pausing in front of Queen Anora.

“Your Majesty.” Roselyn curtsies lowly before continuing toward the door to the throne room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter by far... Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I appreciate all the kudos!!!


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